


Music from the Motion Picture

by agoodnight



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodnight/pseuds/agoodnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's all wide grins and bambi eyes the first time they're introduced in that cramped recording booth. She gets a headache just looking at him.  AU future-fic. Beca/Jesse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the topic of beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> It's an AU future-fic based on the idea that Beca never joined the Bellas and she left University after that year her Dad gave her. So that means no real interaction with Jesse, and well, you'll see the other consequences to that. 
> 
> Beca is a film music engineer and Jesse is an aspiring film composer.

"That better be coffee," Beca calls out in warning, and from the corner of her eye she see's the figure at the door stop right in their tracks.

"Are you  _kidding me?_ " the wispy male almost snaps, "I asked you if you wanted some _before I left_." He comes closer despite her unimpressed stare, and juggles the four tall lattes in his already full arms. There are folders sliding out from underneath his armpit and Beca almost smiles.

"Do not pull this shit with me Beca Mitchell," he grumbles, though Beca notes that he looks slightly agonized that he is unable to supply her with the coffee that she so desired. Personal assistants, their need to please becomes habit. "You know that I haven't been sleeping and I am  _this close_ " he narrows his eyes because he can't demonstrate with this fingers "to setting this whole place on fire."

She turns in her swivel chair, resting her head further back on the head rest.

"Relax Kent," she grabs the one tray of coffees so that he can adjust his grip on the files. "I'm kidding."

Daniel Kent does not look impressed.

"Hilarious," he returns and trades her coffee tray for the files, managing not to [spill](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8749446/1/Music-from-the-Motion-Picture) one drop. "Just take these and practice your sense of humour somewhere else, " he sighs and let's his eyes slide shut for just a minute.

"Dan," Beca chides sympathetically, "you don't have time for a moment of well deserved relief."

Dan grimaces and drops his head to his chest. "Let it be known that I am an excellent personal assistant," he says and starts backing towards the door leading from the recording studio to the main hallway. "Greater than coffee runs. Let my story be told Beca Mitchell!"

Beca scoffs and thumbs at the file Dan had dropped off. "Ya sure," she answers distractedly, "you going to tell me what this is, Shakespeare?"

Dan is already down the hall, his sleek floppy hair but a smudge in the distance.

"What, you want me to read them to you too?" his annoyed voice rings out, and Beca hears him swear under his breath.  _"Use your damn eyeballs._ "

Beca chuckles in the new silence of the room and settles deeper into her engineer's chair. She'd worked hard for this chair. It had taken she, Dan, and the temp from the 4th floor a whole hour to drag it from the recesses of the dreaded basement storage.

Dan had never forgiven her when he found out that the chair she'd blackmailed him into helping her get was a "piece of shit hippie chair" from the 70s. It had awful colouring and looked like it had been chewed on, but Beca had seen it amongst the pictures lining the recording studios walls, famous producers after musicians all seated in its ugly comfort.

If she wasn't going to be appreciated for her talent, and fucking promoted, then she was damn well going to sit in a chair she deserved.

Beca toys with her lip as she flips through the papers in front of her. There's a lengthy brief for Beca's eyes only, followed by a few e-mails between Simon, her boss, and someone named Jesse. It looked like he'd be the new composer for the film.

Good luck with that, she thinks, making a face as she scans through Simon's directions. The film that she and Simon were producing music for had suffered numerous setbacks in the last few months, starting with the temperamental exit of the original score composer, followed by the firing of the second that Andrea (the film producer) hired as his replacement.

This Jesse would be the third, but Beca wouldn't be so sure about him being the last.

Losing interest, Beca tosses the folder across the sound board and drums her onyx coloured nails against the chair arm.

This Jesse person wouldn't be coming to the studio until tomorrow, and by Simon's indications, the guy hadn't even started composing a score for the film. Of course his hiring had been last minute, but they were already on about a three week time frame here, and not only did this composer have to sync and write the music, but they also had to get an orchestra in for the recording of it all.

Doug, the director, was a man with very little musical knowledge. This was common in Hollywood, and to be fair Doug more than made up for his lack of musicality with a surprising gift for visual direction. However, that left the music department at a bit of a scramble when trying to either supply or fit his needs. Doug hadn't a clue what he wanted and it was creating a lovely tension headache that stayed with Beca every work day.

Beca wasn't exactly sure how she landed here, working for a film studio when she so badly wanted to produce music for a record label that she could almost taste it. She had started out there, but opportunity was opportunity and in this town you never turned a connection down.

She'd spent two years out of that promised year of university acting as a personal errand girl for a low tiered record executive, then a year as the gopher music librarian before she'd somehow landed an internship with the Music department of an independent movie studio. She'd spent a full year challenging Simon's opinions as the music producer before he'd decided he'd had enough of her whining. Instead of firing her (as she'd probably deserved) he helped her fast track a degree in film music (supplemental he'd said, I just need a paper to go with the skill set you've already thrown into everyone's face). She'd made assistant engineer by 27.

She'd been here for about 20 films now, and she was comfortable. No, she was  _good_. Fucking amazing, not that anyone really appreciated her input. Beca was not made to blindly follow when she could see a much better result glinting in the near future. Her input had earned her this chair, this role, but it hadn't allowed for much further.

It was the connections though, the very act of creating something with music that prevented Beca's eyes from straying. For now anyways.

Beca's phone chirps suddenly and without opening her eyes or moving from her position slumped against the chair, she palms it and brought it to her ear.

"Beca Mitchell's office," she sing songs.

"When did you get an office?" Simon's gravelly voice is grating in her ear.

"When you finally grew a pair and gave me one," Beca retorts, irreverent.

She can picture Simon's brow furrow when he sighs in exasperation. "Suddenly you're too good to share with the intern?"

Beca sucks her tongue against her front teeth and shakes her head. "I'm not an intern Simon, I'm your  _engineer_. Start treating me like one, you ass."

Simon chuckles but with such a deep voice it comes out more like muffled barks. "You get my notes?" he asks instead of pursuing the subject further, and Beca rolls her eyes at the predictability of it all.

"I did," she chews on her lip, reaching forward to toy with the edge of the file folder. "Cutting it a bit close huh? Is this guy even any good,  _I've_ never heard of him."

"That doesn't mean shit," Simon reminds her, "you've never even watched a full film in your entire life and  _somehow_ I've kept you around. A film music engineer who doesn't even like film. Huh."

"Hasn't made a difference yet," she snipes back, curling long strands of brown hair around her fingers. "Or are you complaining about my work now old man?"

Simon laughs again, but it sounds a bit short and Beca gets that the teasing comeback portion of their conversation was running its course. Business it was.

"Are you storyboarding or showing him the rough edit of the film?"

Simon makes an undecided grunt that she accepts mostly as an answer. "It will have to be the storyboards for now, I'm going to bring this kid in to meet with Doug tomorrow so he can see the rough edits. Not that Doug has released the edits to anyone who  _should_ know," Simon supplies anyways and Beca can understand his frustration because this entire creative process has been one drama after another.

"So we're still pretty early in the process, " she arches a brow as she grasps the papers in her hand, phone tucked between her chin and shoulder. "Why are you giving me this shit then, miss me?"

"Check your attitude," Simon says gruffly, but it's a testament to how well she knows Simon and how seamlessly they work together that Beca takes the warning at nothing. She shifts over in her chair, legs coming down from the sound board so that she can lean her elbow on the lip of the desk.

"I need you to take on a larger role," he provides simply.

Beca straightens in her chair.

"Since recording won't be for a while now, I need you to assist with the composer. Liaise with him, Doug, and myself."

Beca's jaw drops.

"You want me to be assistant _and_ engineer?" She grits her teeth, "I suppose you need me to direct the movie as well."

Simon grunts, probably in amusement, but Beca is feeling anything but amused. It's not so much of a leap, for her to take on an additional role to make this whole process run smoother. They were not a major studio (yet) and she'd helped out here and there before when a project was at it's deadline and unfinished.

What angered her was that Simon had gotten her hopes up. She thought he might allow her to take on some of his production responsibility. Not the case.

"Fine," she sighs after a while, jaw slowly unclenching, and reaches for a pen to take notes. Whatever.

"He's lucky that the spotting session has been completed, but I want no problems when we get to the orchestration. " Or in other words, Simon would suffer no more dramatic outbursts or 'artistic differences.' Beca couldn't agree more.

"Got it," she wrote a few notes to herself, biting down on the pen end as she finished. "You coming in?" her voice has lost it's bite, she's resigned. "Danny got you coffee. You know, like you ordered him to."

Simon lets out a long exhale and she can picture the negative shake of his head. "You drink it, I have to meet with Andrea. Doug apparently has some," he grunts, "ideas for who he wants for the title song."

"It's Beyonce isn't it."

"I'll see you tomorrow," he responds without humouring her, and with a quick goodbye on her end, Beca slides the phone back into her blazer pocket.

Beca takes a few more minutes to just sit there, her eyes staring out to the large empty booth just beyond the soundproofed glass. As frustrating as her desire to be given more responsibility than she was currently allowed, Beca could acknowledge that amidst all this equipment and promise of great music, she was satisfied. But satisfied wasn't happy, satisfied wasn't worth a strained relationship with your Father was it? At least satisfied was indication enough that she had chosen the right path for herself, it just needed a little clarification.

These asshats had to give her a chance. But hey, if they wanted less than stellar critical reception and a lukewarm response from audiences then who was she to challenge that?

She sighs and let's her booted feet hit the ground as she stands up from the chair. Where was Dan and that coffee?

 

* * *

 

Jesse let's his head hit the vending machine with an audible _thunk_.

"Yes Mom this is very exciting," he agrees, muscular forearm coming up to brace against the glass, and he's really wishing that this conversation would end at any moment now. "Yes Benji and I will be going out to cele-" he stops when his mother's voice clamours over his, like she's not even actually looking for answers to his questions.

"Yes, _Mom,_ " he groans in embarrassment, reflexively taking a look around him to see if anyone had heard his Mother. "I'm 28 years old, I think I can find my way into work."

 _But you don't even have a licence sweetheart_ , his Mother reminds him and he has to let his head rest on the vending machine again.

"I always knew that jet pack would come in handy some day" he jokes, but it falls so very flat with his unimpressed Mother and he sighs. There's a pause. "I'm taking the bus."

 _Call me after you're through your first session, I want to hear how it goes okay_? she's so earnestly concerned for him that Jesse has to smile.

"Of course, now I need to let you go," he leans back away from the vending machine to see that a small line has formed behind him. "I seem to have mistaken public property for private again. Jesus, " he visibly flinches when the large boy behind him narrows his eyes into slits, "these people really want their Doritos. Love you. If you don't hear from me tomorrow remember that I was your favourite son."

When he slides his phone into the lining of his jacket, he can see the glares of the people behind him flashing in the reflective glass. He makes a clicking sound with his tongue and wonders if it would be pushing his luck if he got a chocolate bar right now.

Better not.

He makes a grand gesture of stepping away from the machine, the audible humming of it filling up the silence as the small line of people stare at him.

"After you," he bows, adjusts his sunglasses and makes a much quicker escape than most 28 year old responsible adults would in such a situation.

Benji is waiting for him at the door of the diner, a doggie bag of their food clutched in his left hand.

"Did you tell your Mom I said hi?" he smiles in greeting, and slides over so that Jesse can take a seat on the metal bench beside him.

"Definitely not," Jesse steals a fry from inside the bag and tilts his face up to the sun, "then I'd have to jealously fight for my own Mother's attention. I swear if she wasn't happily married to my Father, I'd be calling  _you_ Dad." He chews thoughtfully before extending the bag out to his roommate. "I'd be cool with that. Pops."

Benji let's out an involuntary laugh and flushes bright red at the implication behind Jesse's words. For a man of 27 Benji was just as bashful as he was when they were 18.

"So when are you going in?"

Jesse rubs at the stubble along his jaw for a moment, unsure how to even answer that question. This was by no means his first job as a composer, but it was his biggest, and also his most unorganized. He'd spent two years after his Masters working for the American Film Institute on small time scores, and he only had one other film under his belt (a B movie that while well received, had only been released to a few dozen theatres.)

Jesse had only received a call from a very frazzled sounding woman yesterday, informing him that he needed to be at the studio in two days, prepared to work. It was the film's producer and he had no idea how she had gotten his name.

"Tomorrow," he says finally, and shakes his head when Benji offers him another french fry. "I don't even know what the movie is called," he shrugs, mostly unconcerned. There was rarely any certainty in this industry, and Jesse had come to embrace the challenge.

"Well I think it's great," Benji pats Jesse's shoulder, kind smile and encouraging words. "And when you've made a real name for yourself maybe you can come back to my drama class and the kids won't throw things at you."

"That  _would_ be nice," Jesse winces, the phantom pain of a well aimed water bottle to the head throbs with the memory of Jesse's last classroom visit to Benji's drama room. "How is that going by the way? The whole," he makes ambiguous hand gestures in the air, "musical theatre workshop. Are they letting you do it?"

Benji nods slowly and Jesse watches, interested. Benji had great ideas, but sometimes lacked the persuasiveness that came with getting them realized. They'd been working on that.

"I think so, they said that they'd give me the room on two conditions," Benji clears his throat and the hobby magician's finger comes up in a flourish. "One, they only trust me to do it if Chloe is taking the lead on it."

Jesse bites into his cheek, but nods encouragingly. "Well that's good, we like Chloe."

"She's lovely," Benji agrees, and his second finger comes up so suddenly that Jesse blinks behind his sunglasses. "Two, we can have the room so long as they don't have to give us any funding. "

"Ah," Jesse eats another french fry, "and so the other shoe drops. That sucks man, do you think you could find the money anyways?"

"Chloe has some fundraising ideas," Benji's voice is enthusiastic. "You know the Bellas had to fundraise a lot so her list is quite...long."

Jesse's eyebrows go up a bit. If memory served, some of those fundraisers were bikini car washes. He hopes she has more age appropriate fundraising ideas because he's not sure that 11 year olds in bikinis would go over so well. Or be legal.

"Well let me know if you need my help," he flashes a grin, "I'm your man."

Benji returns the smile with a bright one of his own and settles deeper into the bench.

"So," Benji starts again, "do you need me to drive you in tomorrow? I stop for coffee for all the teachers anyways, so I can drop you off."

"Naw," Jesse shakes his head, rubbing at the stiff muscles of his neck (he hadn't slept so much the night before). "I'm the master of public transportation Benji, if I'm not there to ride it there could be anarchy. Thank you though."

"That's brave of you," Benji nods, impressed, "I mean, not many people take the bus when they want to be taken seriously you know? Especially not with a movie studio."

Jesse stares at Benji, eyebrows at his hairline. "Gee buddy, don't pull those punches or anything," he crushes the bag of their finished food and lobs it neatly into the trash can in front of them. "Let's go before you take me down another peg, I don't have any ice for these burns."

Benji smiles apologetically and their talk turns to lighter things as they stroll back to Benji's rusted old Lincoln.

Jesse is listening, smiling at the appropriate parts of Benji's awkward retelling of a fight over costumes in his drama class, but his mind is pretty fixed on tomorrow. It's not the nerves, oh no, Jesse is far too excited to be concerned with stupid shit like that.

I mean, it  _was_ his first real movie score. It was only his childhood dream finally coming to fruition, but really, that was just an afterthought.

Jesse heaves a large exhale as he buckles his seat-belt Benji still chatting away. He catches sight of his tanned face in the mirror, surprised that none of his anxiety is seeping through. No room for that, he thinks, a grin splitting that stubbled face, too busy knocking this one out of the park.

He hoped.


	2. On the first beat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s all strong-jawed and bambi eyed when he takes in the room, those dark eyes flickering from Constance, to Danny, and then to her. Where they stop.
> 
> Beca stares unflinchingly back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I find myself offering a big apology for the very late update. I've been a bit busy, but I'm hoping to have these chapters much longer and out quicker than you've seen so far. Please excuse any grammar mistakes, I edited quickly but will be going back to fix any mistakes. Chloe, Aubrey, Benji and more former Bellas and Trebles will/may be making appearances in the future so stay tuned! I'm going to be focusing a lot on the development of Jesse and Beca's friendship and how it turned into something more.
> 
> There will be more chapters of Source Music as well. And thank you so much for all your reviews and encouraging words!
> 
> As always, please review, I really appreciate your comments. Leave them here or at my tumblr! Enjoy!

* * *

When Beca was first hired, she'd tried to get a clause written into her contract that unless it was for emergency reasons, she did not start the work day until at least 10am. Somehow, that didn't end up in the final draft.

Hair mussed and eyes blinking blearily at her kitchen counter, it was mornings like this that Beca thought about that clause, like longing for an old friend or a piece of cake. Beca Mitchell did not do mornings, though her need for a biweekly paycheck indicated otherwise.

Beca is just staring at the granite counter top, the blinking red light from the coffeemaker just a blur in the corner of her eye. 9 am she had a meeting with Simon to meet the new composer, then she was working with Constance to finish up the mix for the commercial spot for the studio's latest snoozefest. If people went to see the movie about the pitiful young girl who just doesn't _fit_  in, then Beca was sure that they did a good job with the music. That had to be the _only_ good reason butts were in seats for that shit.

She rubs wearily at the eyeliner smudges under her eyes, feeling slack as she goes through the motions of pouring herself a cup of coffee. Some bird has the audacity to chirp brightly outside or her little kitchen window, and Beca just let's her eyes slide shut, too tired to even bring the mug up to her thinly pressed lips.

This wasn't worth it.

"This isn't worth it," she grumbles, and rocks back on her heel so that she can turn back towards her bedroom, a sad excuse of a room that was actually meant to be a study. The actual bedroom, as so designed by the architect, was Beca's own recording studio, a pet project that had nearly taken her a year (with Amy's help) to complete. All Beca used her "bedroom" for was fading into unconsciousness and storage for her clothing. What was sleep when you could work on a mix at 4 in the morning in the privacy of your own home?

It's 8:05 when Beca sets her mug of liquid ambrosia on her bedside table, and she recognizes that if she wants to be in before the new composer, she should probably leave right...well now. Ah, but does she even really care?

"Not even a little bit," she sighs, and pulls her tank over her head, choosing to leave the black bra clasped securely to her chest. She hums slightly as she reaches into her closet for her purple and black plaid button-up, years of wear having fading the lines to a soft gray. Black slacks are tugged over the swell of her hips, and the humming continues as she makes her way to the bathroom, fingers tugging at the tangles in her hair.

"Oh good lord," Beca puffs her cheeks out, taking a look at the racoon eyes and mess of dark hair. "You are 27 years old," she murmurs to herself, picking up a limp strand of her hair and making a face. "Get your shit together."

Braid it was.

It wasn't like she was trying to impress anyone anyways was she? Beca had a comfortable routine where anyone making eyes at her in the office knew that their private parts were in mortal danger if they tried to get anywhere near hers. Besides, she smirks, brush her hair back so that her fingers can thread the strands into a french braid, during production half of the staff was basically in sweats for weeks.

The hygiene of some people was also questionable, she would say that.

By the 4th weave Beca catches sight of her watch face, a not so gentle reminder that it was 8:15 and she was now officially going to be late.

"Fuck," Beca grimaces, and finishes the braid in a messy twist, not bothering to check if it was even straight against her head. If Simon swings by her office with this Jesse in tow and she isn't there? Ah damnit.

She's just tugging her black boots on when her phone begins its incessant chirping, signaling an incoming phone call.

"No," Beca hisses, red in the face as her foot finally slips into the boots, "who could possibly be calling-argh." She heaves a long defeated exhale and palms her phone.

"This better be the police," she says when she brings the phone to her ear.

"Oh it is," comes a very familiar accent, and Beca finds herself smiling despite the early hour. "We've received reports of indecent exposure, you and your tits are going to have to come with us."

"Me and my tits have a previous engagement," she tucks the phone into the space between her shoulder and ear as she tugs the other boots on her foot.

" _Aw yeah_ ," Amy crows, completely getting the wrong idea, "what's previous engagement's name?"

"Work."

"Well that name's a bit silly isn't it?" Amy chortles, "is it German?"

Beca chuckles and tilts her head back, knowing now that she was going to be late no matter what. "What's up Amy?"

She can basically here Amy switch positions to get more comfortable. "I've got an early taping today, so I've got the night free. I figure we could have a lovely foursome with Ben & Jerry and then quickly follow it up with a liquor orgy. I know that Bailey, Jack, and Grey Goose would really like to become more intimate with your intimates," Amy paused. "If you know what I mean."

Beca held back her laughter with a practiced bite of her cheek.

"I mean to get belligerent in case you are quite slow this morning," Amy expands, "which I know is most mornings. Hey," she stops, "aren't you a bit late?"

Beca gives an affectionate groan of exasperation and hoofs it to the door. "Well I was on time until you called me, but yes," she wrestles her keys out of her bag and slams the door shut behind her. "I will always be up for ice cream foursomes.I'll swing by to pick you up after you're done taping."

Beca can visualize Amy's fist pump, and Amy accompanies it with a cry of triumph. "Stay away from the dairy today then. Jerry is a jealous fellow. "

Beca smiles as she tugs her car door open and tosses her bag into the passengers seat. "I'll be on my best behaviour. Good luck with the taping."

"God speed my son," Amy replies, and Beca hears the dial-tone of the finished call.

Well, at least there was something to look forward to after-and holy shit it was 8:30.

* * *

Jesse is having that flash of mild panic when the bus you were on suddenly gets a lot more crowded and you're invariably pushed further in, further away from the door, and further into the perfect stranger trying to hold themselves upright beside you.

Normally, this wouldn't bother him, as Jesse took to strangers like most children took to candy (wait, that probably wasn't the best analogy...). The issue at hand here, was that Jesse was now packed in tightly in the back of the bus, away from the doors and his stop was coming soon. Or he thinks it's coming soon, what the hell stop were they at anyways?

This. This was why one got a car.

Someone behind Jesse coughs, and he brings his satchel closer to his chest, doing his best to make sure it doesn't swing into the head of the very adorable little boy poised gamely on his mother's seated lap. The bus jerks to a stop and Jesse goes careening forward slightly, his bag cushioning his chest against the elderly woman in front of him.

Aghast, Jesse's mouth falls open, a babbling apology falling from his lips. Shit.

The little boy giggles.

Grinning, Jesse turns to catch eyes with the kid, finding those big baby blues bashfully hidden behind small hands.

Jesse clears his throat, catching the little boys attention.

Curious eyes are watching him closely as Jesse blows air into his cheeks, puffing them up like he was a monkey. Jesse watches, cross-eyed as the little boy shrieks with laughter, flapping his pudgy little arms towards him.

Jesse chuckles and catches eyes with the eldery woman in front of him, a serene smile pulled beatuifully across her weathered face. Jesse winks back.

"You're a sweet boy," the woman says, patting Jesse on the lapel of his forest green coat, taking no notice when the bus again screeches to a jarring stop.

"I'll let my mother know that I fooled you," he chimes back, grinning. "She'll be-" he stops abruptly, only just noticing the scenery outside of the bus. Oh god.

"Oh _shit_ " he curses, completely ignoring the woman who had only just admired his manners and was now gaping at him, scandalized "Sorry, sorry," he babbles, trying to edge his way around her and about half a dozen other people. "It's just that this is my st- _hey_!" he shouts, using the pipes god gave him, "open the doors man, I've got a job!"

"What do you want, a fucking medal?" comes some snide remark from a large man, glaring at Jesse's attempts to shove past him.

"Can I get it engraved to say bite me?" Jesse asks good naturedly, too concerned with making it off the bus to care about anyone on the bus.

"Sorry, sorry," he winces, "If you could just-" Jesse is suddenly shoved forward tripping out onto the sidewalk with enough force to send his satchel skyrocketing past him and onto the grass.

"Great," Jesse turns around, smiling tightly along with the amused chortles coming from the open bus doors. "Thank you good people of the bus," he throws his hand up in a wave, all eyes staring back at him blankly as the bus pulls away from the curb, and Jesse imagines a neon sign of "no fucks were given" flashing over the moving can of sardines.

"Yea," he sighs, retrieving his bag as he starts to walk towards the studio building "I enjoyed our time together too."

"Are you Jesse?" a voice like a shot comes from over Jesse's left shoulder, and he finds himself stiffening in surprise. Flustered wasn't a good way to start your first morning at a new job.

"I've been known to use it," he spins around, a curious smile on his face as he takes in the tall man practically staring right through Jesse.

"Tall," Jesse's eyebrows fly up to his hair line.

"What was that?" the man asks gruffly, looking to his watch like he wasn't actually concerned with an answer to his question. He had to be at least 6'5" with shoulders as wide as a house.

"Nothing," Jesse clears his throat, eyes narrowing in consideration. "You're Simon aren't you."

Simon looks up from his watch to blink back at Jesse, a pensive look hidden behind his bearded face. "Well at least this one knows how to use wikipedia," and finishes with what Jesse thinks might be considered a huff of laughter. Jesse takes what he can get.

"Come on," Simon continues, slapping Jesse on the shoulder and propelling him forward with the all the force and muscle of his entire body in one palm. "You're early, which I like. We'll be able to get through the tour a lot faster before you need to meet with Doug."

"Sounds good," Jesse winces, favouring his right shoulder as best he can with Simon still gripping tightly to it. This was probably a good start though, right?

He's so occupied with Simon that he fails to see the brunette leaning against the door of her car, watching him walk past with her arms crossed over her chest. She shakes her head in mild amusement, and waits a few moments before Simon is completely out of sight (lest he totally nail her ass for being 30 min late) and takes a separate entrance inside.

* * *

"So," Constance says when she slides into the seat next to Beca, "are we taking bets?"

"No bets!" Danny's voice comes out from somewhere behind them, and while Constance turns to shoot him a furrowed little look, Beca doesn't bother moving.

"Mike and Hollis already have 20 in that this guy uses a synthesizer," Constance continues like the sound of Daniel Kent voicing his disapproval was nothing but the wind.

Constance's comment earns a look of scorn from Beca. "A synthesizer?"

Constance shrugs and cracks a finger. "I think the whole idea was that they think this guy is going to be shit," she reasons, smiling in such a bright matter like she didn't say a single disaparaging thing about a person she doesn't even know. Beca can't help but smile back at her.

"You know it's nice how supportive this department is, it really warms the heart" Beca answers, and turns back to her notebook with a smirk on her face, the slanted writing barely legible. "Besides, if he's garbage then I'll just have to do what I do best."

Constance is watching Danny come back into the small recording booth, boxes of donuts stacked neatly on top of one another. "You mean be unco-operative and condescending?" she offers, and Beca starts a little at the blunt tone.

" _Okay_ ," Beca snorts, dismissing the comment with an amused arch of her brow. Constance isn't even paying attention to her, those clever blue eyes are trained on Danny and Beca can't decide if it's to criticize or admire. Beca has to remind herself that she doesn't care.

"You two aren't still taking bets are you?" Danny's voice cuts through the small silence, and Beca actually looks up this time to see him cross his arms over his chest.

"Why, are you interested?" Constance asks, and tucks a blonde curl behind her ear. Beca wonders if Danny can hear the set-up in the tone of her voice.

" _Hardly_ " he explodes, because everything to Danny was basically an earth shattering event.

Aparently not. Beca sees Constance supress a grin from the corner of her eye.

"I don't understand why you're so worked up over this Kent," Constance shrugs, and extends her hand out towards the donuts, and Danny automatically gets her one. "It's friendly inter-office games, and you know that the winner always uses that money to take everyone out anyways. Well," she pauses and shoots Beca a shared wince. "Usually." When Tom from editing won last time he'd taken everyone to the bar, convinced them all that he was setting up a tab for everyone, and then left without paying a cent. Beca had seen the new rims on his car the week after. Bastard.

Danny only tightens his hold on his arms, if possible, and shakes his floppy haired head. "Well then why not use fake money, or..." he's choking on a suitable answer as Constance bites into her donut. "Favours," he finishes and unfortunately that is the exact moment that Constance licks cream filling from the corner of her lip.

The air stills as Danny goes beat red. Beca has to roll her lips under her teeth and press down to prevent the snort of laughter from unleashing itself. Oh Danny.

Constance takes it in a stride though, and sets her donut down, thoughtful. "I think that would take the element of fun out of it, the fake money bit I mean. But," she smiles and it's sincere enough that Danny relaxes from his mortified state. This was the power of Constance, genuinely warm amidst all those confusing mind games. "We can do the favours thing next time. What I wouldn't  _give_ to have Tom wax my car."

Danny and Beca chime in with their laughter, and Danny finally takes a seat next to her. They're playing the waiting game, waiting specifically for Simon and Jesse, though as the minutes tick by Beca is wondering if they'd run into a little problem with Doug already. It wouldn't come as a surprise.

"So was that a no to the bet?" Constance asks.

"Consider it a big one," Beca makes a clicking sound against her teeth.

Danny has his mouth opened again like he's about to take on the whole subject that was so efficiently put to rest by Constance, but the sound of incoming footfalls sound from just outside the door, and he snaps his jaw shut instead. Beca straightens in her chair.

"-it won't be too difficult to find your way around," Simon's deep voice comes first, followed by his bearded visage as he swings the door open. "The interns do it every day, much to everyone's astonishment."

There's a rich laugh that follows Simon's comment, and Beca unconsciously tightens her legs together at the sound.

"And here is a small portion of our team," Simon continues, unfazed that they are staring back at him blankly, or even that Jesse had laughed at Simon's joke. Simon wasn't fazed by much.

Beca actually hears Constance take a sharp inhale as the new guy comes into view, and Beca silently agrees with her.

He's not terribly tall, though next to Simon who dwarfs most people at a steady 6'4', this guy probably tops 5'11." He's broad shouldered, that much she can tell while tracing the blue and red plaid button-up he's sporting, and trim hips fit snugly into dark dress pants. He's all strong-jawed and bambi eyed when he takes in the room, those dark eyes flickering from Constance, to Danny, and then to her. Where they stop.

Beca stares unflinchingly back.

Her brow furrows when dimples suddenly appear and that strong cut face is split by a wide grin. He's still watching her with a surprised look on his face.

"Oh good," Simon's voice cuts into the moment, and Beca takes the opportunity to look away from the weirdo currently making eyes at her sullen profile. "You're both wearing plaid, I suppose the means you have something in common."

Both she and Jesse look down at their respective clothing choices, before almost simultaneously glancing over at eachother. Constance lets out a bark of laughter which Beca decides to ignore, too busy rolling her eyes at Simon's poor excuse for a joke. Jesse doesn't seem at all bothered, in fact he's chuckling along with Constance.

"I'd say a past fondness for faux punk clothing," Constance beams, and stands so that she can shake hands with Jesse. "But you don't look like you were much into grunge. Glee club?" she snipes, smile still dazzling as Jesse takes her hand in his.

"A Capella isn't for the faint of heart," he parries back, pleased at the genial welcome, and drops her hand.

"I'm Constance, the music editor."

"Your work with Constance will not be until later in the production stage," Simon cuts in, bored of the friendly teasing, and Beca, with her arms now crossed over her chest and an eyebrow raised, has to agree. "But I'm sure that you'll be locking horns eventually so might as well get the congeniality out of the way now. You won't need it later."

Jesse surpresses a look of amused surprise, and presses down on his lips to keep from smiling. Well, Simon definitely told it like it was.

"Daniel Kent," Danny suddenly interjects, and Beca presses her nails hard into her arms to keep from snorting at Danny's typical bombastic approach to social situations. He's up out of his chair, narrowed eyes and hand extended for Jesse to shake. "Personal Assistant."

"Cool," Jesse fumbles for a response, delightful surprise with this group after another.  _"My_ pers-"

"No," Danny snaps, and this time Beca doesn't bother to hide the peal of laughter as she dips her head down. When she looks back up, Jesse is watching her again with that same surprised grin, like he wasn't sure what he was expecting but he was pleased with the outcome. She makes sure her face goes slack again so he gets the message. What was his problem?

"Danny is my personal assistant," Simon sighs, reading something on his smart phone. "Your plaid comrade will be assisting you during the scoring and production process."

This time, when Jesse meets Beca's defiant eyes, he's showing genuine surprise. "You're an assistant?" his brow furrows, and Beca can feel Constance watching her with interest. Beca mentally tells Constance to go to hell.

"Hardly," Beca finally speaks, and figures that she ought to stand, so she does so awkwardly, balancing back on the heels of her boots. "I'm the Music  _Engineer_ ," she flashes a heated look to Simon who is barely paying attention, only grunting in response. "But I've been asked to step up to help during the first stages so," she makes a sucking noise with her tongue against her teeth, unsure what to say next.

"I'm Beca," she decides finally, clearing her throat as she extends her hand out to his, smile tight but for the most part sincere. This guy seemed okay, if not a bit...energetic. "It's nice to meet you."

"Jesse," he says after a few moments, his fingers sliding against her hand until his palm is pressed tightly to hers. "I appreciate the help," he continues, and he's just...watching her again.

"Ya well," she extricates her hand, adjusts her braid and takes a step back towards her seat. "Don't mention it," she pauses to level him with her stare, "seriously."

Jesse swallows, dark eyes taking in the slightly messy mass of hair that she'd no doubt rushed to braid onto her head. She was so tiny, this woman, and yet one flash of those commanding eyes and Jesse felt like he was meant to shrink back. Meant to didn't mean that he was going to.

Brushing a hand against the stubble of his jaw, he leaves one last lingering look on this music engineer, before sliding his dark eyes back to Simon whose attention is now fully on him.

"All introduced?" he doesn't even wait for Jesse's nod. "Good, let's go, you need to have a look at the rough edits for the spotting session." He opens the door, only nodding at Beca and Constance and Danny, before he's ushering Jesse along. "I'd ask if I'm going too fast but I don't really give a shit, and if you're as good as I think you are, then I doubt you need any handicaps."

"It was nice meeting you all," Jesse manages to get in, smiling at Constance, then at Beca and finally at Danny who just shrugs back at him. Beca can feel the heat of his stare on the crown of her head, but she's determined to look back down at her notebook, unsure as to why this punk insists on being so socially awkward.

"We'll see eachother again," Constance nudges her hard in the shoulder, a pretty smile still plastered on her face.

"Yes," Beca tightens a smile of her own, almost dismissive as she looks back up at the disappearing Jesse. "I'll be by later today."

Danny again, shrugs.

When Simon and Jesse's voices are but a distant hum in the hallway, Constance wastes no time, jumping up to shut the door to the recording studio, a gleeful look on her face.

"Well, I think the real bets should have been on who's the first to take a bite out of that man candy."

Beca makes a disgusted face, mirrored by Danny's look of horror.

"That guy?" he sputters, "he's...well yes he's well dressed and with the," he makes a vague motion at his chin and Beca cocks a brow.

"The cut jawline?" Constance supplies helpfully, hand on her hip, "oh yes, I noticed darling, believe me. "

Danny looks personally affronted, and Beca squeezes his knee affectionately. "All I care about is his ability to write something decent," Beca directs towards Constance, standing up from her seat, notebook tucked under her arm. "If his jawline has some sort of musical superpower then," she thumbs up, the downwards turn of her mouth exaggerated "awesome. Otherwise, enh."

Constance's eyelids droop until she's looking at Beca like she's said the most ridiculous thing in the world. "Right, it's good that you're telling yourself these things. It's important to keep an emotional distance and all when you're working closely together. Even if all you're really thinking about it tearing those pants right off of him."

From somewhere behind Beca, Danny perks up at Constance's words.

"Constance you frighten me," she pats Constance's face and steps around her. "You two can stay here to chat about those big brown eyes all you want, but I have to talk to HR about Jesse's contracts. So," she makes a mock bow, smirk on her face. "Ta."

She completely misses Constance's own unimpressed look when she shuts the door, but as the door slides shut she can distinctly hear Constance's sigh before Danny interrupts her. "Emotional distance," he questions, "is that like something you practice personally?"

Beca rolls her eyes, biting down on a laugh. He was so painfully obvious. **  
**

* * *

**Please Review!**


	3. On proper introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry, were you unaware that we've only just met or is this how you typically behave around coworkers and complete strangers?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for how short this is first, it was actually supposed to be tacked on to the last chapter, but I hadn't finished editing it, so here it is. I do promise for longer chapters in the future. I should also say that while this is a Beca and Jesse fic I do want to expand on this little world, including Beca and Jesse's relationships with other people. For Beca a large part of that will be her Father and Amy, and of course how she's grown up considering the fact that she didn't have that illuminating year with the Bellas. She's grown up, but she's grown up differently and I don't think she's learned some of the lessons that she would have if she'd followed the canon movie path.
> 
> There will be a lot of Chloe and Benji as well, and Aubrey a little further down the line.
> 
> And I want to thank everyone who has reviewed, favourited, or followed. It means a lot to me to see that you guys are enjoying this and that you want this to continue. I'm sorry that I haven't had the time to respond to reviews from either of my stories, but one day I promise I will. PLEASE, don't hesitate to message me on tumblr (map-it-out) or here. I genuinely would love to talk to any of you and hear what you have to say. Hell, about anything!
> 
> I will have a Source Music update next week, as well as another MftMP if all goes to plan.

"So," the Director says, tense press to his lips and strange gleam to his eye, "what do you think?"

Jesse finds that he doesn't even really have an answer to that. What can you say when you've just been shown the rough edit of a film that you're _still_ not really sure what's the main plot, though you suspect that judging by how upset the female protagonist was at the end, it must have had something to do with loss. Or maybe those were happy tears?

"It's very artistic," he decides upon, lips rolled under his teeth and pressed hard as he looks to Doug, the director for some sort of guidance in his answer. Doug is looking a bit disappointed. Shit. Shit.

"Of course this hasn't even been edited yet right?" Jesse throws in a scoff of camaraderie, sinking lower into his theater chair as he attempts to rectify this situation and quick. "It's like the sketch before the..." Jesse mentally winces at how damn cheesy this is going to sound , "masterpiece."

Doug is quiet for a short while, steepling his fingers as he considers Jesse's opinion.

"Well it certainly will be when we have your music," the man finally smiles, and Jesse almost chokes when he swallows with relief. Were directors usually so...insecure? Doug Perera was not an amateur director, he'd directed his way around many a block in the last 15 years, one of his pictures earning him a Golden Globe. Which was why, when Jesse finally met the man, he was expecting more arrogance than sensitivity.

"I'll do my best," Jesse grins back, "I appreciate you going through this with me. I know that the spotting session was completed before, but I can't write if I don't have my own cues."

Doug dips his head in a nod again, standing up. "I look forward to hearing what you have, in fact," he turns and Jesse catches eyes with Doug's personal assistant, a harried looking man carrying a thick binder. "I'd like to see what you have this weekend," he smiles and claps Jesse on the shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the way Jesse' eyebrows have risen to his hairline. "Adios."

"Ciao," Jesse tries, but from the strange look both Doug and his assistant give him, he can tell that it was a swing and a miss.

So, he had a week to come up with something significant. Not too big a deal, he knew coming into this that he had three weeks while editing for the film was underway to really come up with a great score. Of course seeing the film now...

Jesse sighs and takes a look back at the screen, a still from the movie frozen in time. Jesse considered himself a true cinephile, cinephile in the most technical term possible, and while he could very much see true artistry, the fact that he was seeing a cut so rough and jumbled makes him question his own abilities.

Seriously, what the hell was this film even about?

He thinks back to this morning, when Simon had given him a crash course introduction to some of the production team, his mind particularly stalling on the petite brunette with the death ray eyes. The music engineer Simon had said, though for one reason or another she was also stepping up to assist him in the preliminary stages, a task he could tell from the practical sneer, she did not appreciate taking.

Beca wasn't it? He wondered if she knew anything about Doug's grand vision for this piece, because if Jesse was going on anything right now, it was the fact that this movie probably had something to do with teenage romance.

Right?

Beca. Find Beca.

* * *

Beca is halfway down the hall towards her office when Jesse runs into her, literally.

"Jesus," she snaps, more caught off guard than angry, but when the guy you're supposed to be babysitting nearly lays you flat on your ass, Beca figures its within your right to let off a little steam.

"My fault," Jesse interjects quickly, apology colouring his tone, but there's a pleased smile on that broad face of his. It's only then, while narrowing her eyes at him does she notice that he's got both of his hands around her arms, keeping her from hitting the floor.

Beca arches a brow.

It takes Jesse a moment to register her facial expression but when he does, his hands fly off of her like her skin was hot metal. "Sorry," he's grinning again, a charming sort of look on his face that leads Beca to wonder if this new composer was used to getting in trouble, and swiftly getting himself out of it again. She traces the dimple in his cheek and rolls her eyes. Totally.

"What," comes a voice behind her, "did you guys call each other this morning to colour coordinate?"

Beca's lips tighten in annoyance as one of the staffers lumbers past, snickering at the two adults decked out in blue and purple plaid.

"He makes a good point you know, fashion faux pas" Jesse comments, hands still up like she's holding a gun on him. "What are you wearing tomorrow?"

Beca scoffs, arms reflexively crossing over her chest. This should be good. "I'm sure you think this whole matching twin thing is adorable."

Jesse in fact, does look like he finds the similar shades of plaid thing just that. "I was going to say a display of good taste but," the smile becomes leading turning slightly at the side, "if you're dishing out the compliments I'll accept. Thank you. I am adorable."

Beca's brow furrow is reaching new levels of deep.

"I'm sorry, were you unaware that we've only just met or is this how you typically behave around coworkers and complete strangers?"

That seems to shut him up a bit, and the line of his mouth straightens slightly. "Well we aren't complete strangers. We've been introduced," he pauses, and Beca wonders how, after knowing the man for less than 20 minutes, she can already tell that he has a quip armed and ready.

"Well in a Jane Austen novel that means we're fit to dance a reel without sullying our reputations," she interjects before he can finish, sarcasm dripping off of her every word as she moves to step around him.

Jesse stares after her, allowing her to continue down the hall, an impressed smile tugging at his lips.

"Wait, Beca," he stops her, as she turns mostly out of her duty to Simon rather than the earnestness in his voice. "I just finished the spotting session with Doug."

She blinks dryly back at him, wondering where the part where she's meant to care comes in. "And?"

" _And_ ," he clears his throat, "I was wondering if you could show me the practice studio."

Beca bites down on her lip, thinking of the unfinished production notes she has spread across her desk, and the hour of down time she thought she'd have where she worked on a mix of her own, with no one around to bother her.

Of course, this was her job.

"Do you not write at home?" she questions, leaning against the frame of her office door, gaining the attention of the intern she shared it with, the girl's dark head bobbing up at the sound of Beca's voice.

Jesse watches her, his hands dipping into his pockets in a manner that probably looked boyish 10 years ago, but now only drew attention to the long line of his body. Beca blinks.

"I do," he assures her, licking his lips, "but the acoustics are better in this place and as we're all aware I'm no John Williams." He pauses to take in the involuntary smile that spreads across her face before she can stop it. "And I'm not so full of myself to throw away opportunity."

She watches him, mildly impressed, and toys with the handle of her door. Kim, the intern, narrows her eyes at Beca, no doubt wondering why the hell she's being interrupted for this stupid interlude.

"Let's go," Beca says finally, brushing past Jesse, and leading him in the opposite direction of her office.

She can feel him behind her more than she can actually hear him, a slightly looming presence over her petite frame. He keeps quiet though, content enough to let Beca take him wherever he needs to go. She finds his casualness slightly infuriating. It was like he didn't have a single nervous or uncomfortable bone in his body. New job? No problem. In way over his head? Who cares. Should he probably be skirting around everyone like the punk novice who has yet to earn his place? Tch.

"Hey man," she hears him say from behind her, and she turns her head quickly enough to see him high five one of the production assistants. Unbelievable, he'd been here what, 4 hours?

"Comfortable?" she asks him as they round the corner, and Jesse looks back at her with a satiated smile to his face.

"I am, thanks," he shrugs, "I like it here."

"Of course you do," she sighs in exasperation.

When they reach the studio door, Beca pauses, taking out her pass from the pocket of her black slacks. She can feel his eyes on her when he comes to a stop and she almost girds herself for the inevitable come on.

"Can I ask you something?" he says, and Beca nods, biting into her lip to keep the knowing smile off of her lips. She gets the door open with an audible beep and ushers him in.

"What exactly is the plot of the movie?"

She starts, honestly surprised by his question, and can't hide the emotion as she walks around him, flipping on the lights. The room isn't overly large, only a practice studio and usually for Simon and the orchestrator when they get down to discussion on tempo and whether or not they'll include that second trumpet section. In the center of the studio is a large piano, and Beca walks towards it.

"Didn't you just watch it?"

Jesse shrugs and follows her in, his eyes on her instead of the room. "That doesn't mean much," he deadpans, and Beca finds herself holding back a snort for the second time in just 20 minutes. "I mean it looks like it's going to be good," he amends, and Beca watches the honesty in his face, like he doesn't want her to misunderstand him. "If all I had to go on for the film was emotion alone, I'd get there but what was with all the crying? Did someone get kidnapped? Or was that one chick offed sometime when I was blinking because there didn't seem to be rhyme or reason for that epic teenage sobfest at the end."

Beca's eyebrow arches in amusement, and she leans against the piano.

"Well from the storyboards I've seen I think it's a family drama," she shrugs not really giving a shit if she's honest. "Something about siblings surviving truly fucked up parents and learning about forgiveness."

He's watching her like it's all starting to make sense, though she catches the furrow in his brow from across the room.

"Then why is it called Love's Bosom Friend?"

Beca gapes at him in stunned silence. "It's called what?" she chokes, laughter breaking through the honest question, and infectiously Jesse shrugs with a broad grin of his own.

"Right?" he chuckles, slightly relieved that it wasn't just him who thought the title really fucking weird. "I thought it was going to be about old ladies reminiscing about their love lives, or maybe a very ironic title for a truly excellent stalker flick."

Beca snorts with laughter again, covering her mouth as she shakes her head. "That was  _definitely_ not what it was called last week," she supplies, and watches as he comes close enough to take a seat on the piano bench .

"What was it before?"

"Fated."

" _Fated_?" Jesse asks, incredulous, his forehead wrinkling in what Beca will admit in an manner entirely too cute for a man nearly in his thirties. "I'm not sure if that was much better."

Beca winces, laughter slowly falling to a sigh.

"I thought this movie was about siblings," he continues, and Beca shrugs her shoulders.

"Incestuous siblings?" she offers, and snickers when he makes a displeased face at her. She finds herself loosening, something about his easy nature and charm that puts her slightly at ease. She leans further onto the piano top, her forearms resting on the black surface. "I only care about the music. Hell, I don't even watch the movies when they're done."

Jesse, who had been opening the piano with a gentle touch, drops it back down with an audible snap at her words.

"I'm sorry," he urges, trying to clarify. "You produce music for films, and yet you don't even  _watch_ them?"

Beca, used to this response, nods, perfectly satisfied.

Jesse, however, looks like he's having a bit of a rough time with this.

"Has anyone ever told you that you might be in the wrong industry?" he suggests, and Beca's laugh is breathy as she watches him open the lid of the piano again, his strong hands flexing against the white of the keys.

"No," she mocks, "never heard that one before." She means to back away from the piano, to take up at the desk just off in the corner, but she finds her eyes drawn to the focus he gives to each piano key, a small smile dipping at the corners of his mouth as he tests each one.

She'll admit that she wasn't quite expecting this, the new composer's desire to go straight for the piano. Though maybe he just held an interest for the instrument, most composers now a days used computer programs to write their music on, and considering Jesse's age, she pegged him for one of those as well.

She can't help but wonder if that was an accurate assumption to make, not when the tendons of his right hand flex with the pressure as he presses down on the keys, a chord striking in the practically silent room.

He starts to play something, nothing grandiose or complicated, just a tinkling little tune that serves more as a warm-up than anything, and Beca is still drawn to the musculature of those hands as they fly across the piano keys.

"So how does this work?" his voice breaks her concentration, and Beca's eyes fly up to meet his dark ones, the colour warm.

"You seem to be working it just fine," she cuts, shifting as she draws back into herself.

Jesse laughs, and Beca feels her hand twitch. "I mean you being my assistant..." he trails off eyes narrowing, "and the music engineer. Are you under the impression that you have multiple occupations, Barbie?"

Reminded of the slight of the whole situation, Beca's mood turns slightly sour, and her mouth thins.

"I'm not at your beck and call if that's what you're expecting," she warns, feeling suddenly harsh, and she can tell that he notices the change in her tone because his eyebrows go up but he otherwise looks unbothered. In fact he looks a bit amused.

"I would never," he assures her, and she can see that he's honest as his fingers fly across the piano keys, but that just annoys her more. "I've just never written music at a professional caliber like this," he admits, and his hands still. "I honestly don't know what to expect here."

God damn those eyes.

Beca feels her shoulders relax from their tense position, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "I will help you where I can, I will liaise between you and the senior production team, but I will  _not_ ," she points a finger at him, "be babysitting you, be your personal servant, or write your damn music for you. Got it?"

"It has been received," Jesse nods.

"And after all of this," she gestures absently at the room around them, and Jesse wonders how he's supposed to take that. "I will be back behind the recording booth, doing my real job. Okay?"

Jesse nods again, watching the fire die down a little in her eyes, and he can't help the charmed quirk to his lips. She was something.

Jesse wisely chooses to say nothing more, glancing back to the piano keys, laid out in front of him like a buffet for him to try. He sighs a little, a thoughtful look on his face before he reaches for the lid, closing it on the keys.

"Well I better get home and get started," he pushes the seat back, eyes locked on Beca's as he stands. She seems unsure of herself at first, though she straightens when he does, watching him with assessing eyes.

"You have my number?" she blurts out, and Jesse's eyebrows go comically high.

"Not like that, nerd," she scoffs, rolling her eyes as she goes to retrieve the pen from behind her ear. "You need to have it for professional reasons, I can't assist if you can't get a hold of me." She's explaining it to him like he's very slow, and he shakes his head at her. "Do you have a piece of paper?"

"Fresh out," he says congenially, and after a moment of thought, extends his hand out to her.

She stares at it. "I wasn't serious about the dance, Jane Austen."

"Oh, do co-workers not hold hands at random intervals of the day?" he asks, undeterred and nods for her to come closer. "You can write it on my hand."

Beca has a pinched look on her face as she considers this, but it's now 6 pm and she's been here almost a whole day. A very strange day where new composers act like they've been friends for longer than they have. Which would be not at all.

"Do not misuse this," she punctuates, taking his hand in hers, decidedly ignoring any inner commentary that observes how strong those hands really do feel under the small breadth of her own. She presses down hard, and it's to Jesse's credit that he doesn't do anything more than wince as she carves her number into his palm, probably tattoo it to his flesh for all eternity if the force is anything to go by.

Holy god was she trying to draw blood?

"Call me," she snarks, tone suddenly chipper, and Jesse let's his jaw hang a little, way too impressed with this tiny sprite of a woman to be respectable.

"Let's just both take a moment to remember who gave who their number first," he says, and flinches when she stabs him in the thigh with that same pen.

"Just remember to write the damn score," she parries back, stepping around him to open the door. She's had enough of this little interlude. She feels unsettled, unsettled by the ease in which she feels she can speak to him, not at all at the professional distance she holds most people she's just met. Hell, even most people full stop.

Jesse finds that he's really looking forward to this whole process.

Beca isn't so sure that she agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review!


	4. One step too many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had a threesome last night," Beca hides the smirk when Jesse's eyebrows go way up at her admission. "Ben & Jerry with a little side of Jack."
> 
> Jesse seems to relax into his lean on the piano, and he chuckles quietly. "That sounds more like a foursome to me."

He doesn't call her when he gets home, but he doesn't exactly wash her number from his hand either (at least not for a while).

He can admit that there's an element of immaturity to that, or maybe some sort of Taylor Swift starry eyed thinking (the Taylor Swift of his college years at least). In truth he's not sure why he doesn't just write her number down onto a sticky note and soak his poor hand in some sort of chemical cocktail; there was no way that ink was coming off any other way, and judging by the force in which she'd written it into his skin, he'd be surprised if it came out at all.

He just forgets about it. Yes. Forgets.

"Writing?"

Benji's voice comes out of nowhere, and Jesse has to blink his surprise away in order to focus on his roommate.

"Hey,"he shifts, splaying his fingers out over the keyboard keys like his thoughts had been on anything else. "You'd think so, but this maestro has a bit of writer's block."

Benji takes that as an invitation to walk further into the room and his "teaching satchel" bunches at his hip when he takes a seat. "That usually doesn't happen to you," Benji muses, fingers playing with the leather bag strap.

Jesse sighs and let's his hands fall in his lap.

"Especially not when I'm finally getting my big break right?" he laughs a disappointed little laugh and rubs at his eyes. He'd left the studio at 6:30pm, gone straight home to his mock up studio and had been sitting there for the last 5 hours. He only had vague musical phrases, and only for one scene.

"You need to meditate," Benji urges. "Whenever my students get the creative brain drain I always lead them into a daily yoga pose. It keeps the brain juice fresh."

Jesse has his eyes narrowed as he tries to imagine how the hell impromptu yoga sessions go with a pack of 10 year olds.

"It's a nice idea man," Jesse says encouragingly, but slumps further into his chair. "But this body doesn't do the pretzel so well."

"No it's not a pretzel," Benji rushes to correct him, now on the edge of his seat. "It's the dog pose, here let me—" Jesse watches with mild concern as Benji almost dives from his chair, arching his body upwards abruptly.

"You know, I think I'm—oh there it is," Jesse has a hand over his face as he watches his earnest roommate slide into an almost jack knife position.

"This is really relaxing man," Benji assures Jesse, but Jesse can only press his lips together to hold back the chuckle.

"Thanks Benji, I'll have to try it later," he nods, "when I'm feeling more limber."

"Of course," Benji smiles, and he's folding himself back into the chair, tugging his satchel back onto his lap.

"So what's the news on the workshop?" Jesse asks, tucking a pencil behind his ear as he takes the blank sheet music off of the keyboard and stuffs it somewhere he doesn't have to look at it. Evidence of failure.

"Chloe wants us to meet so that we have a proper plan of attack," Benji explains, shifting forward in his seat. "She says that we can't give them a reason to take it away from us which means we're at defcon 1."

Jesse arches a brow. "You're going to arm your warheads?"

Benji laughs but shakes his head. "No, we're just going to have a tightly organized lesson plan."

"That sounds more like an Aubrey thing than a Chloe thing," Jesse points out, and he flexes his right hand, the ink beginning to itch at his skin.

"I think that she's just prepared to be more aggressive..." he trails off and Jesse definitely doesn't imagine the small flush that works its way over Benji's cheeks, "than usual. We've been working hard for this."

Jesse smiles.

"I know man, and you've got my support 100%"

Benji beams and pushes himself off of the chair. "Thanks dude," he catches Jesse unawares with a fist bump, and they struggle for a bit because neither of Jesse's hands had been exactly free. Benji makes it even more awkward with an enthusiastic explosion sound after their knuckles hit.

"No problem," Jesse chuckles, fondly shaking his head as Benji leaves the room.

Despite the 10 year age gap, there wasn't a lot different from Freshman Benji and Middle School Drama Teacher Benji; both were fastidiously earnest and still slightly awkward in social situations. Jesse worried sometimes that Benji's sincerity and tendency to put himself out there no matter what would lead to an utter ego massacre at the hands of pre-teen kids. There were a few little shits, but for the most part the kids responded well to someone so supportive and unfailingly kind. Benji was good at his job. Jesse couldn't imagine anyone better.

He and Jesse had been in L.A for a few years before Chloe had appeared as the new music department hire at the same private middle school as Benji. It had been an odd coincidence and an even better surprise. Away from the whole a cappella competitiveness, Chloe had become a friend. And, the occasional object of Benji's misplaced affections.

Cracking his neck, Jesse returns his thoughts to his music, the whole load of practically nothing staring back at him. This was a problem, mostly because while he could hear the direction he wanted to go, he had no thematic bridge to take him there; without it, all of those notes and phrases went absolutely no where.

Beca's clarification on what the film was really about hadn't really even helped.

Not that he needed it. He knew it wasn't about two siblings with raging hard ons for each other or anything.

This wasn't like him. Direction and confidence was something he had never lacked before, especially not when so much was at stake here. It was a problem of focus, he surmised. Ideas were practically humming in the corners of his mind, but his thoughts were lingering and therefore muddying on other things. Other people.

Jesse sighs and runs a hand through his thick auburn hair.

They'd known each other for less than three hours and his mind was just retracing those minutes. It was mixed with an odd feeling like he'd seen her before, and not in a romantic past lives kind of way (please, give him a little more credit). There was a brush of familiarity there, mostly in her attitude, but that could always be because she reminded him of someone. He was pretty certain that if he'd met her before he would have definitely remembered.

It wasn't a manner of romantic obsession either. She was hot, that was undeniable, but what had really sparked his interest was the defensive manner and the obvious character quirks. What the hell kind of film music engineer didn't like _film_? It was absurd to him. He loved it.

Propping his elbows up on the white keys, Jesse's eyes trace the black ink of her number, a pensive look on his face.

He couldn't help himself, is what he reasons when he reaches for his cell phone on the neighbouring desk.

* * *

"I think I'm fondest of Jerry," Amy hiccups, dipping her spoon back into the tub of cookie dough ice cream with lazy ease. Nearly asleep, Beca blinks blearily from her stretched out position on the couch and shifts so that she can see Amy better. Somewhere beside her a bottle of Jack clinks when it hits the floor.

"What about Ben?" Beca yawns.

Amy makes a face, chewing thoughtfully on the raw cookie dough chunks. "Jerry is a much more dangerous name," she reasons.

Beca snorts, feeling more awake as she settles back into the couch cushion. "You think that  _Jerry_  is a dangerous name."

" _Yeah_ ," Amy drops the spoon back into the tub and leans back in her chair. "Like a cowboy, or a very mysterious accountant with a sweater vest," Amy makes an obscene gesture and Beca laughs from across the room.

"You interview celebrities for a living and you think Jerry the accountant is the ideal in mystery?" Beca's eyebrows go up in disbelief and she only smiles when Amy flings her arms up in defence.

"Oi, I  _am_  a celebrity thanks," Amy goes back for the ice cream spoon, licking a bit of ice cream from her finger when she does. "Besides, all those flatbutts talk about is how great it is that their thighs don't touch and how much money they drop at Gucci." Amy scoffs and her spoon goes up like she's brandishing a sword. "They're quite simple people."

"As you're so quick to inform them," Beca observes, remembering the last time she'd turned on Amy's show and watched her actually tell a thirsty young starlet that her tiny purse dog was actually quite stupid. Amy got away with it because she was so well loved by the public. Less so by many of the celebrities that she interviewed.

"They honestly didn't know. I was being a good Samaritan." Amy beams innocently.

Beca nods, interrupted by another large yawn. She wasn't sure when it happened but somewhere between 23 and 27 alcohol began to make her extremely sleepy, putting her into bed before 11 on some weekends even. This was what her life had come to. Goodbye youth.

Amy has her mouth opened like she's about to make such a comment, but it goes interrupted when Beca's cell phone suddenly chirps. Annoyed, Beca holds a finger up for Amy to wait.

**_Sender: Unknown_ **

**_Was that a definite yes on the incestuous siblings?_ **

Beca's brow, which had initially furrowed at the unknown text, smooths out as she recognizes the sender. You have got to be kidding.

"Is it your tasty PA friend?" Amy asks at the sight of Beca's eye-roll.

"No," Beca answers distractedly, trying to reply to Jesse's text. "The new composer."

_**Sender: Beca** _

_**It was a definite no. Why do you need to know?** _

Amy's eyes flash in interest and she sets the tub of ice cream on the coffee table. "Is this Mr. Previous Engagement?"

"Huh?" Beca's eyes are on the new message, not quite registering Amy's question.

_**Sender: Unknown** _

_**I wasn't sure if this score should go in the sleezier direction. What's the proper tone for incest?** _

"No," Beca finally answers, missing Amy's arching brow as she watches Beca. "Well, yes," she brushes her hair out of her face in irritation and sits up straighter on the couch, "I had to meet with him and Simon this morning. "

Stilling, as if realizing her mistake, Beca slowly lifts her head to meet Amy's amused eyes. "It's  _not_  what you think. He's a complete dork," she ignores Amy's hip thrusts "and a total novice. I'm not sure why he was even hired."

**_Sender: Beca_ **

**_This isn't a porno genius. Stop texting me._ **

The response is almost immediate.

_**Sender: Unknown** _

_**Thanks for clarifying. Green tomorrow? Or should we go for pencil skirts?** _

Beca bites down on her lip hard when she sees it, mostly successful in hiding the involuntary smile. What a total nerd.

_**Sender: Beca** _

_**Good night.** _

Satisfied with the end of the exchange, Beca tosses her phone onto the coffee table, meeting Amy's eyes in the process. Amy looks positively predatory.

"I told you  _no_ ," Beca warns, and adjusts her position against the couch so that the blanket is wrapped around her entire torso. "Seriously, he's like an annoying insect or something. I wouldn't be surprised if he comes up with nothing tomorrow and I have to scramble to find someone new.  _Amy_ ," she's glaring at the other girl now, who is still looking at Beca like she's full of complete shit.

"Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a twist," she motions for Beca to pass her the half finished bottle of rum. "What's his name anyways?"

"Jesse," Beca shrugs, and leans over to grasp the bottle. "I can't remember his last name."

"Well now how am I going to creep his facebook profile?" Amy scoffs, seriously unimpressed. "Amateur."

Beca rolls her eyes and settles back again. "Shut up and finish the bottle, I've got work in the morning."

* * *

The first person Beca sees at 9 in the morning the next day is Danny, quite possibly the worst person to be greeted by when you're mildly hungover and in a foul mood.

"No," Beca warns before Danny even has a chance to open his mouth, whatever accusation he's thinking of simply lingers with the pinched expression on his face.

"No?" Danny scoffs, a binder tucked under his arm and a coffee in his hand. "How about you check your messages for once in your damn life. I called you twice,  _he_  called you once before pestering me for the last 20 minutes, so you can shove your no's—"

"What?" Beca's forehead creases and she slings her bag off of her shoulder and onto her desk chair. She thought that she was going to get the 3rd degree for being so obviously hungover, as Danny loved to do, but she could admit that a pinprick of worry swelled in the back of her mind at the prospect of having slept through some sort of emergency. Danny watches the expression change on her face and he sighs.

"Your composer," Danny elaborates and starts backing towards the door, Beca's office obviously just having been a pit stop for Danny's berating. "He's been here since 8 am and he's been looking for you."

"He's  _here_?" Beca asks, slightly incredulous and jams her sunglasses onto her head. Danny smirks when Beca winces from the brightness of the lights. "Shouldn't he be oh, I don't know," she pulls files out of her bag in a forceful manner, " _writing_?"

Danny is still trying to back his way out of her office. "That's what I said but I'm not the baby sitter," he points a finger at her, smiling when she rolls her eyes in a predictable fashion, "you are. And I have to go attend to my charge. So mind your kid so I can mind mine."

"You're kind of a shit friend," Beca calls out to him as Danny once again disappears down the hall, leaving Beca to unwind the scarf from around her neck in a semi-violent manner. What the hell was her composer doing here? Normally they took a few days to actually bang something out, create a mock up so that the Director could review it. Hell, Beca could only count a handful of composers that they had hired before who had actually come in during the creative process at all. Directors often came to them, and Beca normally didn't see the composer until it was time to orchestrate their score, though she supposed since that was her  _actual_  job, that wasn't too out of the ordinary.

So what was this joker doing?

"Why," she groans, picking up her thermos of coffee and starting for the only place she could think he'd be right now, the practice studio.

When her key slides free of the key pad and she has the door wedged open, it's then that she can hear his music, piano notes twinkling in the expanse of the bare room.

Her eyes narrow as she pushes her way in, catching sight of Jesse's seated form at the piano bench as his long fingers fly over the white keys. His jacket is still pulled tight across his broad shoulders, his auburn head dipping with every forceful thrust of his fingers and she knows that he can't hear anything but his own music right now. He looks consumed.

It takes her by surprise at first, the raw emotion behind the melody, his right hand steadily tinkering out a lighter phrase, while his left hand is almost a blur in the speed that he flies across the base notes. As the music swells with the higher notes, the lower ones are overcome until there is just a fading hum by the foot pedal. Beca can hear the dialogue in his music, the phrasing more words than musical notation.

She clears her throat, mostly to regain her senses, but it has the additional affect of drawing him out of his focus. The notes drop off immediately.

"Ms. Mitchell," he turns abruptly and that grin spreads wide across his stubbled face. He doesn't look even remotely caught off guard at her sudden entrance; he looks happy to see her, and she's not quite sure why. "I didn't hear you come in, what d—"

"What are you doing here?" she interrupts with all the subtlety of an air horn. Jesse's smile fades slightly and he looks like he's a bit at a loss at her blunt reaction.

"Uh," he tries, gesturing towards the piano and a few loose sheet notes with cramped writing all over them. "Well it may appear like I'm simply playing a piano. But you're right," he looks a little solemnly at her, and Beca narrows her eyes. "I was actually orchestrating the complete destruction of man kind through the E major chord. Are you going to punish me?" His teeth flash white with an amused smile, and she wonders for what has to be the 50th time since she's been introduced to him, if he is ever anything _but_  amused.

"I thought you would be writing," she responds stiffly, and Jesse watches her intently as she comes to stand beside his bench. "Wasn't that what all of that texting was last night? You riding a brain wave?"

"About incest?" Jesse laughs, and swings his leg over the bench so that he's straddling it, fully facing her now. "You were actually very helpful. I think it was the monosyllabic answers that really had my creative juices flowing."

Beca presses her lips together to keep her eyes from rolling skyward. "It was midnight fool," she turns to bring one of the fold out chairs closer, slumping into it with all of the energy of 27 year old facing an extreme hangover and the smiling idiot from god knows where. "You're lucky you got a response at all."

Jesse merely smiles at her.

"I count my lucky stars every day that you lower yourself to answer my text messages," there are a cacophony of notes when Jesse braces forearm against the piano keys, and leans. "And I was actually being serious about the help, I'd hit a rut and your inspiring words of 'this isn't a porno genius,' got me over that cliff. " Beca watches him flex the hand that's laying limply on his knee, and wonders if it's an odd twitch he has.

"What's the matter with you anyways," he brings her attention back up to his face, where a look of curiosity is waiting for her.

Beca sighs and rubs at the tension building just behind her eyes. She's not even sure it has anything to do with his sudden appearance or the fact that he's created more work for her by simply being around for her to  _assist_. He drives her to frustration with his carefree attitude and bullet proof grins, and then bleeds it dry with that exact same smile.

She feels weary. It's only been two days.

"I had a threesome last night," Beca hides the smirk when Jesse's eyebrows go way up at her admission. "Ben & Jerry with a little side of Jack."

Jesse seems to relax into his lean on the piano, and he chuckles quietly. "That sounds more like a foursome to me."

"Amy was there," Beca is just giving it all away now. "My friend," she supplements, before frowning at her sudden loquaciousness.

Jesse seems to sense that he's gotten far more than he was ever meant to, and he backs down. His posture straightens and he's hiking his leg up and over the piano bench again so that he can better situate himself.

"Nothing kinky for me last night," he presses down on middle C and lets the note ring out. "Just me and 5 minutes of score."

Beca shifts, her interest really piqued now. "You wrote 5 minutes last night?" her voice is coloured with an underlying tone of disbelief and Jesse shoots her a disparaging look.

"Don't sound so surprised," he tisks, "for all you know, it's straight porno music."

Beca's eyelids lower and she shoots him a look. "You're right, that would make more sense."

He chuckles with genuine pleasure, and Beca thins her lips to keep herself from smiling at the fact that she'd made him laugh.

"It's a bit difficult scoring when your Director hasn't actually  _given_  you a copy of the unedited film yet," Jesse's fingers move over, and he raises them as if he's prepared to start. "Which was why I was having so much trouble making connections."

Beca's eyes are drawn to those strong fingers, and he's suddenly pressing down on the keys, music filling the spaces where his voice doesn't.

"I have an inkling of a theme, a thematic bridge but I just don't—" he stops and his fingers flutter, creating a pulse in the music that Beca can feel in her own chest. This...whatever this was, was beginning to sound  _really_  good.

She watches him lick his lips, and wonders not for the first time, how Jesse can allow all that passion to simply bubble over. He doesn't even attempt to censure his feelings, and she's fascinated as she watches him struggle to explain it to her.

"But I think that it's what the film needs. Lilah," he references the main character of the film, "has an inkling of a connection to her family, but no means or depth to bridge that gap and bring herself to a satisfying conclusion."

She inhales as his music begins to taper off, stunned by how much thought he's put into this.

"So for now, this music," he's speaking lower now, his timbre matching the timbre of the solemn base notes, "is as lost as her. Oh Christ," Jesse suddenly let's out an agonized bark of laughter, and the music comes to a crashing halt, ripping Beca from her reverie. "That was cheesy. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he apologizes, still laughing.

Beca doesn't find it funny at all.

"No," she clears her throat, silencing him. "No, you're right. That's...smart Jesse. Really smart, and completely appropriate to the story-line."

He's watching her, the smile falling off his face so slowly, and he's just staring at her staring at him.

"A lot of composers end up upstaging the action on screen but it sounds like you'll be supporting it. Lifting it," oh man, now she was sounding cheesy. She clears her throat. "It's good. I think that Doug will like it," she hurries to regain control of the situation and sits as far back as possible from him, nearly tipping the chair over. She thins her lips.

"Thanks," he says after a moment, and she can still feel his eyes on her. There's a burning sensation somewhere in her chest that she attributes mostly to the hangover. Or maybe acid reflux.

There's a silence that she senses he's about to fill, but she cuts him off. "So you need a copy of the film then huh?" she stands, feeling relief at being above his eye line now, and fully capable of escaping it. "As your liaison, that would be my job."

"Yeah," Jesse supplies unhelpfully, and he looks a bit disappointed. "That's why I came in in the first place actually so, if you could."

Beca nods, and begins to head for the door. "Come along now then," she let's the tension break with the careless tone of her voice, and she hears Jesse scramble to shut the piano from behind her. "What kind of babysitter would I be if I left you here all alone."

"My sister," Jesse quips, and shrugs when Beca shoots him a look.

"It's a marvel that you've made it this far in life."

"It really is," he agrees, and follows her out the door. If his hand lifts as if to press itself to her lower back, he ignores it completely and tightens it into a fist at his side instead.

* * *

Constance is in the editing room, glare on, jaw tight, when Beca pushes open the door.

"That's not your decision to make Felix," barks the blonde, 35 years of worry lines creasing exponentially as she stares down at the small man in the cushioned chair. Felix, Doug's editor of choice.

"Connie," Felix says tiredly, 60 years old and too tired for this shit. "You don't cut the movie to fit the music—" he holds up a hand, preventing Constance from barreling through this line as well. "You cut the music to fit the music. Simple as that, and I won't throw another 30 seconds onto that rain scene, just so you can extend the theme. I won't. "

Beca slides her tongue against the back of her teeth, knowing that Constance's stubborn nature rarely let a thing slide past her. Especially if it was something she really wanted. Beca can feel Jesse behind her, just at her shoulder, no doubt failing to understand any of this.

"You make it sound like it's me," Constance laughs, but the smile cuts like a knife. "Patricia said that something wasn't clicking, that the music needed more weight," she smacks her hand down on the table hard, and Jesse swears under his breath in surprise.

"This is where I'm trying to fatten it up Felix. Please," Constance continues, obviously getting nowhere by the look on Felix's unimpressed face. Beca can understand that. The film's editing (this one a period romance set in the 18th century) is essentially done. When Felix is done, he's done.

"No can do sweet pea," he condescends so kindly that Beca sucks in a breathe in absolute amusement just as Constance's eyes narrow. It's a fight that Constance won't win, so Beca clears her throat.

"Waving the white flag," she says, and Jesse steps in cautiously after her, a look of incredulity on his face.

Constance heaves a sigh, irritation causing her to bite the inside of her cheek, but she withdraws. Felix relaxes.

"Jesse," Constance smiles, "you probably haven't met Felix yet. One of the movie editors. Complete shit."

Felix actually chuckles at that, and leans over to shake Jesse's hand. "Composer?"

Jesse slaps his hand into the other man's, relaxing into that charming smile Beca feels is a permanent fixture on his face. "That's what I keep telling everyone. Not sure how long to keep the ruse up though."

Felix laughs, and Beca shares a look with Constance who looks a bit harried. The film she was working on was proving more of an editing nightmare than it was worth. Seriously though, it was essentially a piece of rom-com shit.

"Doug hasn't given him an editing copy of the film," Beca interjects, not wanting to prolong this little visit if she can. She wants Jesse out of here and on his way. "You  _are_  working on that one right?"

Felix scoffs, insulted, and spins back around in his chair. "You've got lip kid, it's going to land you flat on your ass one of these days." Jesse's grin broadens, and Beca shoots him a look.

"Swanson?" Felix coughs, retrieving a disc with Jesse's full name on it and Beca's brow furrows as her eyes trace the letters. Jesse Swanson. Huh.

"As I live and breathe," Jesse jokes, and takes the disc in his hand. "Thanks."

"You come all the way here for that?" Constance asks, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks between the two of them.

Jesse shrugs, unsure why it's an issue. "Well yeah," his eyes automatically slide to Beca, and she's not sure she likes that he's becoming used to being able to do that. "Apparently this isn't a porno so I've got to put more effort into it than smooth jazz and a few ironic horns."

It annoys her that she doesn't have time to keep the snort of laughter back, and it annoys her further than Constance is eyeing her when she does. Jesse beams, like he's won something with that laugh.

"The fuck are you all doing?"

Jesse blanches, the only one unused to Simon's sudden and mildly frightening entrances.

"You forgot to get him a copy of the film, genius," Beca shoots back, turning around with a challenging expression on her face. Jesse looks mildly horrified that she talks to her boss like this.

Simon sighs, looks at his watch, and sighs again. "Good thing you're a helpful pain in the ass then," he returns, nodding only briefly at Felix before eyeing Constance. "Come on blondie, we've got to look at these tracks. You good Swanson?"

Jesse's eyebrows have returned to their normal place, and he looks relatively unfettered. He shrugs. "5 minutes so far, I'd like to run it by—"

"That's what I like to hear.  _Constance_."

"-you," Jesse finishes, meeting Beca's eyes with a wry tilt to that stupid mouth. Beca; however, has her eyebrows furrowed, her mind catching up with Simon's brusque actions as Constance squeezes past her.

"Wait, what project is this?" she asks, meeting Constance's eyes as she follows the two of them out the door. Constance doesn't seem to know, and only shrugs. "We only have the two currently."

Simon is suddenly looking at her, and Beca's eyebrow goes up. He only makes direct eye contact when he's serious.

"Not your problem, you've got your hands full with Swan here," from the corner of her eye she sees Jesse mouth the word 'Swan?' looking to Felix for confirmation. "I need an editor. Are you an editor?"

Beca feels churlish, and she crosses her arms over her chest as she looks away. "I might as well be, I do everything else here too apparently."

Constance shakes her head behind Simon's now tense shoulders. "Watch the attitude. We'll talk later."

Beca bites into her lip hard at the dismissal, the familiar rage at her situation here bubbling up and over. She catches Constance's apologetic eye, but merely shakes her head as the two trek down the hall and away from the editing room.

"So," Jesse unwisely decides to break the tension, and Beca feels the irritation needling her shoulder blades. "You've all got a good rapport here. A lot of grunting."

Felix barks his laughter behind Jesse, but Beca is too annoyed to feel the sting of humiliation at having that little scene watched by the likes of the grandfatherly editor or the smart mouthed new composer. He really needed to get out of here before she blew a gasket.

"Shut up," she says intelligently and takes off down the hall, hearing Jesse's shoes squeak against the tile as he rushes to catch up with her.

"Hey," his voice is earnest and terribly apologetic and it grates on Beca's nerves. "I didn't mean—"

"Why are you still here?" she snaps, spinning on him with her eyes flashing. She's led him to her office, she realizes, several hallways away from an exit. Damnit.

Jesse's mouth falls open and he stares at her. It's a new look, this one; his brows start to lower, and there's a dulling in his eyes when he gets over the shock of her outburst. It's definitely not amused and painfully happy as she's grown used to the past two days. Well good.

Jesse swallows, and as he watches the lines of stress deepen at the centre of her forehead, he feels himself calm. She barely knows him, is hung over, and upset. Right.

"Damn," he says, tone a bit wary as he holds his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm getting the impression that your default state is set to attack."

He watches her visibly bristle, and knows that that wasn't a good direction to go.

"I'm gone," he assures her, taking a step back as if to prove his point. "Thanks for getting this for me," he lifts up the disc in his right hand, careful to maintain a pleasant look on his face, lest he set her off again. "I'll call you if I need you."

Beca isn't sure if it's just the fact that the hangover has taken the energy right out of her, or if that infallible patience that's rolling off of Jesse in waves is lapping up whatever shred of irritation she has left, but Beca can only look at him and feel her hackles lower.

"Whatever," she says lamely, and there's a long pause. She feels that it's not enough so she sighs again. "Call me when you have more done," she offers, feeling contrite for some stupid reason. "I'd like to hear more." It's true, she would actually, she's surprised that he's caught her interest with only 5 minutes and an effusive personality.

It is absolutely the right thing to say because Jesse' grin splits his face wide. It's a handsome face, she observes in further annoyance.

He seems to get that she's had enough for the day though, because the smile dims to a pleased grin and he salutes her. "I will. Feel better."

Beca nods dismissively, studiously turning her back on him lest she actually watch him walk away. Fuck. What a day and it was only Noon. And what the hell was with Simon and Constance, she thinks angrily, tugging her door shut with unnecessary force. When she slides into her seat, papers everywhere, she digs her nails into her palm to calm herself. Whatever. It was true that she had enough on her plate already, she just wished she wasn't so annoyed that Simon was deliberately leaving her out of a project. He never left her out of projects, and normally very little had her temper rising past the point of control, but her job and feelings of frustration about her role here were a quick flip switch from detatched amusement to snide anger.

"Ehem," comes the not so subtle cough of her office mate who she didn't even frigging realize was there.

Beca gapes at Kim, unsure how she missed her whilst stomping into the small room.

"Are you going to throw your tantrum in here?" Kim asks, stony in every manner as she looks at Beca through a curtain of sleek hair. "I was trying to work you know. There are soundproof rooms for that kind of crap."

Beca doesn't even answer her, instead lets her head fall into her hands in utter defeat. Whatever.

Two hallways over, Jesse aimlessly walks through yet another wrong door, and wonders why leaving this studio feels an awful lot like getting into Mordor.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you, SO MUCH, for all of your amazing reviews and words of support. Sometimes it's hard to continue these things and it means a lot when people take the time to tell me what they think. I'm very sorry that this took longer than expected to post, and unfortunately it is also unbetad. However, I do have a beta now and will be working on getting all of this cleaned up!
> 
> A few of you have been asking similar questions so I'll address them here:
> 
> \- Wouldn't Beca know Jesse from when they worked at the radio station? That will be explained in future chapters. This is an AU, and the scope of that will become more obvious the further we get, but aspects of the stint down at the radio station will be changed, as well as a few other things!
> 
> -Where is Chloe? We're about one or two chapters from her right now.
> 
> -Will there be more Benji? Loads more. Chloe, Amy, Benji and eventually Aubrey will be making big appearances.
> 
> -What about Stacie, Lilly, and Cynthia? Since this is AU, and I feel like Beca's predominant relationships were with Chloe, Amy and Aubrey, I'm not sure if the other three will make an appearance. It's 10 years down the line, not everyone can end up in L.A. That would be a bit ridiculous. I will try though, and of course during flashback chapters they will be present and accounted for!
> 
> I hope that answers some of your questions. Please feel free to give me more! Also, I really like Beca and Jesse's friendship so that will be stressed and developed. It's been 10 years and these two kids are in their late 20s. They've grown up, but differently than they may have if this fic went by the events of the movie, so I hope that you guys like what I have planned for them!
> 
> Please review and drop me a line at my tumblr!


	5. On the final ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she wakes up on Saturday morning, it’s to 5 text messages, 3 voice-mails and one phone call blearing through the former silence of her stuffy bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, it's been a month. I seem to always be apologizing, so from now on just expect one, because I'm really not doing very well on the update front. My work has picked up, so my free-time to write is getting a bit few and far between. Anyways! Thank you so much for everyone who reviewed, favourited, followed, and left lovely messages for me at my tumblr. I really appreciate all of you!
> 
> I hate this chapter. This isn't a ploy to get sympathy, it really didn't come out at all how I wanted, and unfortunately it's one of those chapters that needed out of the way so I could pick the pace of the story up. I'm fairly disappointed with it, and I would appreciate your honesty when you review (I can't get better unless you help me out).
> 
> That being said, it's 10,000 words on it's own, and I hope you like it.
> 
> I've been getting a lot of questions about the fic, and I'll answer those in the end of the chapter. It's unbetaed as my lovely beta is sick with the flu, so please excuse any grammatical errors.

When she wakes up on Saturday morning, it’s to 5 text messages, 3 voice-mails  and one phone call blearing through the former silence of her stuffy bedroom.

“No,” she rolls back over, catching her blanket across the chest as she does. She’d like to believe that with her face pressed into the fabric of her pillow, and the sheets rucked up under her arms, she can will the cheery ringtone back into the darkness of her poorly lit room. With her tank top twisted up near her breasts, and the uncomfortable press of lung and ribcage where her arm has been pinned underneath,  it’s a credit to her laziness that she barely even grunts in pain.  Perhaps it’s because the pillow is slowly asphyxiating her.

Who cares, she’d rather go that way anyways.

Beside her on the night table, her phone continues to ring. Beca isn’t sure what’s worse, the shrieking sound of the ringtone, or the sunlight beating against her poor excuse for blinds.

It’s 7 in the morning she thinks, it’s 7 in the fucking morning so who in the name of hell is calling her?

It had to be the composer. It  _had_  to be. When she’d mentioned that she wanted to be updated on his progress, she’d thought that he might text her on a time frame, e-mail her about needing an extension. She did not mean to give him an invitation to abuse her phone.

_This is what you get for being nice_  she thinks, an aggravated grunt tearing from her lips as she stubbornly tightens her grip on her bed sheets. The phone chirps away merrily, one of her mixes from a few years ago that at the time she’d felt particularly proud of. She can’t say she’s feeling too much the same right now.

Like a shot, Beca’s hand smacks against the side table, fingers wrapping around the offending device.

“What?” she snaps when she brings it to her ear.

“Woah,” the voice chuckles, “and good morning to you too.”

“7,” she struggles through the fabric of her pillow case, “it’s fucking 7 am. Why?”

There’s a long pause where Jesse makes his exhale sound fond somehow, an exasperated puff of air in her ear.

“Because you asked me to phone you.”

“Bullshit,” she grunts, suspicion digging lines in her forehead as she glares at the fabric of her pillowcase.

“You’re really profane in the morning. Anybody ever tell you that? A boyfriend maybe?”

The question is entirely too leading and Beca rolls her eyes as best as she can when half of her face is pressed into her pillow. “I swear to god Swanson,” she almost growls, ignoring the boyfriend comment with all the subtlety of well...Jesse.

“Beca,” he cajoles, voice warm in the darkness of her room. “I have the text message. Would you like me to read it?”

“No just—“

He clears his throat.

“ **Beca Mitchell** :  Doug’s meeting tomorrow. Wake me up,” he pauses and she can here the fucking grin in his voice when he scrolls to the next one. “  **Jesse** :  Are you sleeping over or something? I’ll put out the his and her bath towels just in case.   **Beca Mitchell** : Shut up,” his voice goes high pitched in a way that her voice  _definitely does not_ , and she slides her eyes shut in irritation. “I meant for you to give me a wake up call.  **Jesse** : What kind of wake up call, because I can think of a few.   **Beca Mitchell:**  You’re an incredibly difficult person to deal with.   **Jesse:**  So like 7 then?  **Beca Mitchell:** Whatever.”

There’s a short silence after he finishes where Beca is screwing her courage to make sure that she doesn’t lash out at him, or worse, throw her phone at the wall.

“So,” Jesse says, “Beca Mitchell.  _This_  is your wake up call.”

She sighs, less so at Jesse and his bright tone at a totally inappropriate time in the morning, than of the fact that she  _did_  ask him to call her for 7 am.  Fuck. She had completely forgotten about the meeting with Doug this morning.  They’d been given a very prompt 9 am summons from the director, the intention being that Doug could listen to what Jesse had so far in terms of a score. Beca hadn’t mentioned this to Jesse, but Doug probably wouldn’t accept what work Jesse had done without a fight. Doug had little knowledge about film music, which made him nervous. A nervous director was a doubting director, and one that clung to the temp tracks like their life depended on it.

This meeting had headache written all over it, and to make matters worse she’d offered to give Jesse a ride there. What self-respecting 28 year old didn't have a car? 

“You said 7,” he says, a defensive and slightly apologetic tone to his voice. She knows she said 7, she just can’t think why she would have when she didn’t need to pick Jesse up until about 8:30 or 9. She easily could have rolled out of bed at 8:20, thank you very much.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jesse continues, and she’s not sure that anything that he says will. “I haven’t slept in 24 hours.”

 “Yeah,” she deadpans, not at all surprised as she thinks back to the flashing mail icon on her phone. “I can tell from the million texts you sent me at obscene hours in the morning.”

“So you did get them,” he carries on like he hadn’t heard the harassed tone of her voice. “Funny, I didn’t get any texts back.”

Beca thinks about just letting him drone on, about letting the low tone of his voice just lull her back to that beautiful sleep.  

“Oh I haven’t mastered sleep-texting yet,” she is sarcastic as she can be with very little effort, and rolls over onto her back. “Give me another few hours to practice, slugger.”

Jesse chuckles on the other end, a warm sound that is so foreign to hear for her so early in the morning. The flare of irritation that has been swelling in her chest since the phone rang is minimizing to a dull throb as she listens to him completely dismiss any edge of anger she believes clear in her voice.  How typical of him, how casually he glances over every attempt of indifference or aggravation she sends his way. And it is real, this aggravation, because he is far to calm, too confident to be borne. It is 7 am and he’s laughing in her ear. It’s 7 am and Beca finds the sound of his voice weighing her further down into faulty springs of her mattress.  She is strangely more aware of the exposed skin between her breasts, of the thin fabric twisting between her legs.  She can only fist the bed sheets and swallow that feeling down.

“I’m sorry Beca,” he says, and she can hear the sincerity in it. “I should have known to call later. I don’t suppose this means I’m kicked out of the Beca carpool express, does it?”

A small snort of laughter escapes her, and she slaps a hand to her mouth to better contain it. The sun is high enough in the sky that it’s beaming through the spaces in her blinds, a scattering of bright lines climb up her bedspread and into her eyes.

 “About that,” she rubs at her forehead, only now mindful of the fact that her alarm clock is glowing an obnoxious 7:16 am beside her head. “You’re a strapping lad, you could walk right?”

Jesse laughs, a deep sound that she licks her lips to. Beca doesn’t laugh with him.

“Wait,” he suddenly sounds worried, and she is free to picture the slackening of his typical grin; she enjoys the twist in her lips when she hears his panic. “You’re kidding right? You’re not going to leave a poor country boy out in the cold.”

“You aren’t from the country,” she drawls, fingers tangling in the knots of her hair.

“I could be. I happen to have a lot of plaid.”

There’s a wry twist to Beca’s lips when she agrees with him. “How stereotypical of you.”

“No but Beca, seriously. Can I still get a ride to Doug’s?”

“Yes. Now please, just shut up.”

He chuckles. “Does my lady have my address?”

“I know where you live you moron, cut the crap.”

She can’t see it, but she can picture it, the way his eyebrows must fly up to his hairline at her admission. “Beca,” he says slowly, surprise colouring his voice. “Are you stalking me?”

She could be asleep right now. She could be enjoying the sleep her poor body deserves before she has to be up and cognitive enough to drive them both to Doug’s house for the meeting. She could have one more hour of delicious sleep.

“Jesse,” she says in exhausted warning.

“Okay, okay. Thank you Beca,” he says warmly, and Beca has her thumb on the ‘end call’ button “Oh,” he suddenly interjects, and Beca hears him shift on the other side of the phone, “before you go. I,” he draws it out, and she knows then that she’s not going to like what he has to say. “Want to play something for you—don’t kill me.”

“I don’t think that there are enough words in the dictionary to describe how much I hate you.”

“Did you try thesaurus.com?”

She lets out a long agonized exhale of breath, counting to 5.

He makes a sucking sound against his teeth, and she wants to believe that the apologetic tone of his voice is enough to give her back her Saturday morning.

“Not the time for jokes, got it. Since you’re already up then...?”

“Fine,” is all she says, and her whole hand is pressed over her eyes to block out the brightening of her room from the rising sun.

It’s not the piano this time. No, when she presses the phone closer to her ear to listen  better, she’s surprised that it’s a guitar she hears.  He frets the guitar, the notes coming out clear and crisp as the melody gets louder, and her heart starts to pound with it.  It’s good, of course it is. Aspects of the theme he had been playing around with the week before are finding their way into the strings of the guitar, but it’s different somehow, happier; there’s a force behind it that is so contrary to the uncertainty of his piano piece.

She clears her throat, prepared to tell him as much when it’s his voice that she suddenly hears...humming.

Of course, as a composer, she expects nothing less than a mastery of most instruments if not an excellent understanding of them. She doesn’t expect one of them to be his voice, though.

There are no words, he’s just humming in contrast to whatever melody he’s playing on the guitar, and she has to assume that he’s using his voice as a stand in for another instrument. But..

She has a hand on her abdomen suddenly, and she’s not sure why.

“And that,” he raps his knuckles on the guitar a few times and the sudden end to the music jars her from her revelry, “is another 2 minutes. What did you think?”

She licks her lips, unsure how she’s supposed to put thoughts to words right now, when she has no thoughts. He has robbed her of thoughts.

“That bad huh,” he whistles when she doesn’t respond, “Reminder to never us—“

“No,” she snaps, and then winces because her own voice sounds odd in her ears.  “It was good....it’s getting there.” She attempts indifference and feels like she doesn’t succeed.

He chuckles at her dismissive tone of voice, and it makes her brow furrow to think that he can already read her like a fucking paperback.

“So encouraging, you film people.”

She snorts at that and plays with the hem of her boy shorts, grateful for the familiarity of the banter lest he find out that she’s got a death grip on her bed sheets. “I’m not a film person.”

“Don’t remind me,” he deadpans, sounding pained at the reminder. “It drives me to drink.”

She grins despite herself.

“What, do you want an apology?”

“Do I want an  _apology?_ ” he stutters, before sucking in a large breath. “I want an explanation. That isn’t possible. It isn’t possible for someone to not like movies.”

“Any movies,” she confirms with a lazy smile as she begins to play with the ends of her hair.

“Any—“ he lets out a long irritated huff of air. “This is insane. I can’t—you’re insane.”

She nearly laughs, but bites down harshly on her bottom lip instead to keep the sound back. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, not when she can hear the smile through the other end of the phone. There’s a long silence after he speaks, but she can hear him shuffling, almost like he’s getting comfortable.

A flare of panic surges up.

“Is that everything?” she asks, voice levelling to a controlled mumble.

“Uh,” Jesse responds, sounding a bit surprised. “Yeah, I guess so. So it was  _acceptable?”_

“Satisfactory,” she sniffs, pulling her tank top down to cover her stomach, a tense feeling clawing at her insides and demanding for a sense of decorum. He wasn’t even in the room and she was struggling to maintain control of her own body. “It’s getting there Jesse,” she repeats her previous words, “Doug will be impressed. Probably.”

“Another vote of confidence! I suppose this is what I deserve at...7:30 in the morning.”

 “Go to sleep, you’re nonsensical.”

“Good night,” he says more softly somehow, and she swallows the resulting tremor in her stomach down.

“You mean Good  _Morning_ ,” she purses her lips, and without another word from him, she disconnects the call so that there is nothing but white noise.

She keeps the phone pressed against her face, her eyes falling shut as some stupid bird chirps from behind the window. He was something, this composer, and Beca wasn’t as confident that she would be able to so neatly pack this project up as she had thought before. He was supposed to be out of his element and only adequate.  The phantom melody is still playing in her mind, and the low hum of his voice accompanies it.

No, he was more than adequate, she groans as she rolls back over onto her side. Asshole.

Heaving a breath, Beca fists the sheets and lets her eyes slide shut until the seconds tick her back into a slow oblivion. The bird chirps again from behind the window, and Beca nearly hisses. “Just once,” she mutters, heaving her blankets off of her and doing an excellent impression of a drunkard as she nearly rolls off of her own bed. “Just once, I’d like to sleep in.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse is grinning to himself when she hangs up the phone, no dial-tone could wipe it off his face.

About a week into their first meeting, and Jesse was fairly prepared to admit that he enjoyed this woman, oh god did he enjoy her. He wasn’t entirely sure that she would so willingly say the same about him, but he felt confident enough that he was beginning to wear on her. Oh yes, he expected full tolerability by the end of the weekend.

Scrubbing his fingers against the stubble lining his jaw, Jesse tosses the phone onto his work desk, wincing when it nearly cracks against the screen of his Mac. There were papers everywhere.  _Everywhere_. Jesse wasn’t one of those composers who did the majority of their work on a computer program, no, as someone who idolized composers who had died long before such technology could even be invented, he was a fan of the old school process; ink, sheet music, and the piano keys. Of course, he always mixed and finished on the computer, but he liked the organic (a capella was a lifestyle, didn’t you know?).

Lacing his fingers behind his head, Jesse leans back into his chair, eyes sliding shut as he gives himself a moment to relax.  He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Beca that he didn’t think he’d slept in a day.  His stubble was entering the first stages of a beard, and Jesse was sure that bloodshot eyes would greet him if he mustered the energy to look in the bathroom mirror.  He’d hit a stride somewhere around 3 am yesterday, and he’d worked almost consistently since then.

Between strumming the guitar and playing the keyboard, Jesse wasn’t sure the stiffness of his fingers wasn’t permanent.

The day wasn’t done yet either, in about an hour Beca would be swinging by to take him to their meeting with Doug; his first real meeting with the director since the spotting session.  _I expect greatness_ , Doug had said, a comforting clap on Jesse’s shoulder but no such softness in his voice. Oh Jesse believed that he would deliver, he had an idea that would  _make_  this film. He just needed a chance to show it.

No, a voice reminded him, what he needed was a nap. And maybe a shower. It was such a shame that you couldn’t do both without risking the whole drowning thing.

A cough comes from somewhere to Jesse’s left.

“Benji,” Jesse’s eyebrow furrows, “it’s like 7:30 am man. Did you forget that it was Saturday again?” He eyes Benji’s appearance, his bashful roommate is the picture of suave in black slacks and a blue button up shirt. There’s a loose tie dangling from around his neck, and Jesse’s eyes narrow. “Wait, it is Saturday, right?

“Definitely,” Benji assures him, fumbling with the button at his colour in a fixated fashion. “I checked like...5 times.”

“So what’s with the get up then?” Jesse slides off of his chair, walking over to Benji with curious eyes. He stumbles a bit when his foot gets caught on the satchel on the floor.  “I mean you look like a dapper motherfucker, but I’ll stress what needs to be stressed here:  _it’s Saturday morning._ ”

“Yeah?” Benji brightens, pressing a palm to his shirt front, “would you say handsome?”

“I want to kiss you right now,” Jesse assures, brushing wrinkles out from Benji’s shoulders. He doesn’t miss the trembling sigh that Benji takes as he suddenly is unable to look at his roommate.

“Okay man,” Jesse crosses his arms over his chest, “you’re freaking me out here. Is there a wedding I wasn’t invited to?”

A little flustered at the question, Benji begins to tug at the collar of his shirt, really wishing that t-shirts were a more widely accepted form of fashion. You could wear t-shirts to impress people right? That’s why they made those t-shirts with bow-ties on them already. Funny  _and_  classy.

“It’s the first day of our workshop,” Benji explains, fumbling with his shirt sleeves now, “and my Mother always said that the key to success was a great wardrobe.”

“Your Mother also said that soda was satanic.”

Benji frowns. “Isn’t it?”

Jesse considers this for a moment, his bottom lip jutting out as he finally nods. “Pretty much actually, hey—“ he grins trying to catch Beni’s nervous gaze. “You look great man,” he says sincerely, coming closer to adjust the tie knotted at the base of Benji’s trembling throat. “One question, if I may?”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you so worried about impressing a bunch of 11 year-olds?”

Benji colours a bit at this, and when he meets Jesse’s eyes he’s gone completely bashful.

“Benji,” Jesse warns, finger in his face. “Chloe isn’t interested in you like that, remember?”

“No, I know. We’re cool,  _totally cool._ As friends.”

Jesse sighs, and claps Benji hard on the shoulder, not believing a word. Benji’s little crush on Chloe had been a relatively new development, one that she was totally aware of, and not at all comfortable with. It sucked really, because Benji was such a great guy, but anyone could see that the two of them just didn’t...fit. Chloe legitimately valued Benji’s friendship too, which made it all the worse. Jesse was convinced that this little crush had about a month or two before it ran its due course, but it was at a bit of a flare up stage right now, considering the fact that the ginger goddess and his roommate were working so closely together for this workshop.

“Did you practice that in the mirror?” Jesse asks, suspicious.

“No?” Benji returns, without any conviction whatsoever. They share a grin at the hopelessness of the situation anyway, and Jesse steps around him.

“Well you look great man, good luck with your workshop.”

Benji watches him carefully, only just noticing that Jesse is still in yesterday’s clothes, and looking a little worse for the wear.

“Did you sleep in your clothes from yesterday?” he puzzles, leaning on the door frame with a confused look on his face.

“Oh,” Jesse rubs at his jaw, sheepish. “I kind of didn’t even sleep,” he grins when Benji shakes his head at him, shrugging in helplessness. He’d been on the receiving end of too many lectures to count, the aim was always to convince Jesse that his goals would go unfulfilled if he continued on the track of insomnia and junk food. Jesse often worked through nights, a habit only encouraged by the fact that he got great results when he did. Benji often lamented that he never learned. 

Looking at his watch, Jesse sank his teeth into his lip. He had about an hour before Beca rolled herself out of bed and came to get him, a long time frame if he did say so himself.  “I hit a brain wave sometime between the fourth  _Friends_  rerun and the fajitas,” he calls out in explanation as he moves past Benji and into the bathroom. He tugs on the shower nozzle so that the cascade of cold water pounded onto the shower tiles.

“Was that such a good idea?” Benji shouts over the sound of the water, unable to stop playing with the knot of his tie. “Let me make you some eggs, eggs are fuel for the brain.”

“Only if you’re making some for yourself, though! Thanks man,” Jesse shouts back, the words muffled as he tugs his t-shirt over his head. His boxers go next before he steps into the shower.

“I think I’m going to need all the brain food I can get,” Benji comments, mostly to himself as he turns back towards the kitchen. Today was going to be a good day, he assures himself, fixing a soft smile that pins his spirits to a high.  Jesse had said he looked dapper, Benji couldn’t even think of a better compliment, especially when he was beginning to sweat through his shirt. The workshop was finally starting and well, Chloe had forbade him from doing any magic tricks...or wearing any of the drama costumes during it, but that was probably for the best.  He could still wear his cape at home and to the grocery store, that was probably enough.

Humming happily to himself, Benji strides into the kitchen, deft fingers rolling his cuffs up to his forearms.  He wondered how Jesse felt about scrambled eggs, he really needed to use that green onion he’d gotten the other day. Jesse had a pretty bad tendency of completely failing to take care of himself—not in an unemployed bum type of way, but Jesse’s mind worked a mile a minute and he sometimes just plain forgot to eat. Or sleep. Or sometimes dress himself. It was a far cry from the often put together young man of their University years, but Jesse was a creature of obsessive passions, and it was easy to get lost in them. It’s with a shake of his head that Benji retrieves the eggs from the fridge, struggling only momentarily when his cuff catches on the fridge door.

The doorbell rings.

With a curious but intrigued expression on his face, Benji opens the door, sleeves still pushed up to his elbows and his tie now slightly loose around his neck.

 “Oh,” Beca straightens, feeling unable to milk her tiredness when the person at the door was not an auburn haired pest. Blinking back her surprise, Beca takes in the curly haired guy with a pleasant smile plastered against his boyish face, and bites her lip. “Does Jesse Swanson live here...”

Benji grin deepens and he sticks his hand out right in front of Beca’s face. “ He does, I’m Benji. The roommate. You’re Beca?”

It takes some time for Beca to get over her surprise, but she shakes Benji’s hand awkwardly, a tentative smile on her face.  He was certainly an enthusiastic one, and really well dressed. Interesting that this didn’t seem to rub off on Jesse (not that he didn’t look  _nice_ , he clearly made the effort with the leather jacket and the plaid. She could admit when a man filled out pants nicely, it didn’t have to mean a  _thing_ ).

“I am,” she says, unsure what to do when the handshake goes on for longer than socially acceptable, and he’s still just smiling at her. “Has he been talking about me or something?”

“Loads,” is Benji’s answer, and Beca’s eyebrows go way up, a small smirk starting at the corner of her lips.  “Not in a creepy way or anything,” he amends, blushing. “Co-workers can talk about co-workers without it being weird.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” she says, finding herself oddly charmed by this Benji.  Of course, it’s only after a few silent minutes go by that she notices that he’s still got a firm grip of her hand. “Uh Benji,” she  bites into her lip “can I have my hand back?”

“Oh!” the roommate flushes, and Beca can’t help but smile at his nervous energy. He was nice. Insanely so. “I’m so sorry, it’s one of those mornings you know!” He punctuates his statement with a dorky little laugh, and Beca’s smile turns into a full out beam. Adorable.

“Jesse is just in the shower,” he explains, missing the way that Beca’s face blanches. “Come in, I was just about to make eggs.”

“Oh you really don’t need to...” her voice trails off to nothingness as Benji disappears around the corner, happily humming to himself. “Okay then.”

Their apartment is quite large, the foyer opening up to a large living room with movie posters plastered all of the walls. It doesn’t take a genius to see Jesse’s input into the common space, in fact, on the far wall there is a wall to wall bookshelf containing just movies.  “Nerd,” she muses under her breath, taking careful steps as she walks deeper into the living room. There’s another hallway to the left which she can only assume contains the bedrooms, and....she can hear the pounding of water coming from that direction. The bathroom.

Sucking violently against her teeth, Beca promptly turns towards the kitchen.

“Can I help?” she questions, lifting her satchel from around her shoulder and setting it on a nearby chair. She leaves her sunglasses perched firmly on her face, any source of light still too much for her just recently awoken eyes.  She’s tentative as she watches him, never one to be comfortable in other people’s spaces. Benji waves her off though, gesturing to another chair.

“No! You’re a guest. Sit. How do you like your eggs?”

“Whatever,” she gestures emptily, slowly seating herself. “I don’t really—“

Benji stops and pivots, a spatchula in one hand and a pan of vegetables crackling softly behind him. “It’s okay Beca, just relax,” and dare she say that there’s a bit of amusement in that soft smile of his. “It’s just eggs with a new friend.”

Beca’s face screws up, and they have a bit of a stare down as she struggles for comfort. “However you’re making them then.” She rolls her eyes at his triumphant grin, and chuckles lowly under her breath. When he isn’t looking she slowly eases back into the chair, attempting nonchalance. It’s not quite as hard as she thought, not counting that she hadn’t even bothered brushing her hair as she’d stumbled out of the house only 20 minutes ago.

“So,” she tries, “are you a...lawyer?”

The splutter of involuntary laughter is so sudden that Beca’s eyebrows fly up past the rim of her sunglasses. He’s giggling over the eggs, stirring with a beam on his face.

“No, I’m a drama teacher.”

“A drama teacher? Wow. Did not see that.”

Benji’s forehead wrinkles a bit at that, and he’s suddenly more tentative. “Do I not come off with authority?”

Beca smiles and shakes her head. “No, it’s just you looked too suave to be a teacher. Drug lord maybe?”

Benji gives an embarrassed laugh, and stirs the eggs in the pan. “Thanks.”

Beca toys with her ear, a subconscious action as she looks away from Benji and back around the room. She was uncomfortable still, unsure of her placement in this apartment, especially when she had murder on her brain and only a few hours of sleep to support it.  This was Jesse’s kitchen, Jesse’s apartment, Jesse’s roommate. Somewhere, at some point, she took a wrong turn.

And god, those eggs smelled good.

“ _Hello_ ,” booms suddenly from the hallway, a deep echo that has Beca’s eyes snapping towards the open doorway. “ _Is it me you’re looking for?_ ” Jesse, it had to be Jesse. “ _I can see it in your eyes,”_ the singing gets louder the closer he comes, and Beca hides a smile behind her hand as he really goes for the vibrato on the last syllable.  To her right, Benji begins to harmonize softly under his breath, happily scrambling the eggs in the pan.

“ _I can see it in your smile_ ,” he rounds the corner, and suddenly it’s not so funny anymore. Clad in a pair of black boxer shorts, with a towel tousling his still wet hair, Jesse doesn’t even look up when he slides into the room, voice rising to a crescendo. The boy was packing, was all her short circuiting brain could think. Narrow in frame, though wide in shoulder, Jesse had the lean musculature of a man whose ambivalence for his appearance was a relic of their early 20’s when hipsters were still the trend, and guys were encouraged to ironically care about their appearance so far as indentation of muscles poked through their plaid shirts. Not that Jesse looked anything of a 19 year old hipster now, at 28 he was more solid looking, and the muscles showed at least some upkeep. The deep V of his pelvis was more than proof of that, she thinks, licking her lips as she trails her eyes back up to his face.

“ _You’re all I ever wanted, and my arms are open_ —” he stops abruptly when he sees her sitting at his table, the arm that was rubbing the towel against his hair freezes. “Beca!” he exclaims, stopping short of the table that he had blindly been travelling towards, the towel now flopped haphazardly over his head.

“It’s a good look,” she says slyly, refusing to let his abrupt appearance send her back into a fit of awkwardness at being in her composer’s kitchen on a weekend. What she does do, is continue to appreciate the figure he cuts in the doorway.

To Jesse’s credit, there’s only a beat before that smile is splitting his face wide and he’s pulling the adjacent chair out from the kitchen table. “Thanks,” he jokes, “took me  _hours._ ”

Damn him for not feeling uncomfortable in the slightest.

He has her pinned to her chair with just one look, like he can’t quite believe that she is sitting in his kitchen (neither can she). Water drips from his still wet hair, and while she finds herself caught by the trail it leaves against his neck, Jesse’s own gaze doesn’t stray from her. She’s glad that she left the sunglasses on, is what she thinks when she finally tears her gaze away, losing at their little game of chicken.

“You’re here earlier than I expected,” Jesse comments, hiding a small smile as she refuses to look back up at him.  Her hair looks unbrushed, though he likes the look of the natural mess of curls than her normal styling, like a glimpse of something he isn’t supposed to see.  She looks like she rolled right out of bed. She must have, he’d only hung up on their conversation about 30 minutes ago.

“Funny how that works,” she snipes, “being awoken at 7 in the morning and unable to get back to sleep. Ha. Ha.”

Jesse has the grace to be embarrassed  and as Benji continues humming happily behind him, Jesse leans forward with an apology on his lips. “I really am sorry Beca, I didn’t realize it was so early. Or,” he points out, dripping water onto the table top, “that it was day time at all. “

She holds his gaze, a vision of cool with her eyes shaded and her lips pursed. “I’m sorry that you’re an idiot too,” she says tersely, but she’s relaxed against the back on the chair again so he takes it as a win.

Benji takes the opportunity to serve the breakfast.

“My lady,” he charms, setting a small plate of scrambled eggs down in front of Beca with an elegent flick of his wrist. Beca’s lips twist at his show of gallantry and she dips her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you,” she gets out, finding herself staring at the plate with a rough feeling in her throat. This was weird.

“My lord,” Benji says to Jesse next, and the composer smiles gratefully.

“My liege,” he parrots back, like it’s a bit they do every day of their lives. Beca can’t help but dart her gaze between the two, intrigued by how comfortable they are with one another, almost like a married couple. She has to hide a smile with a bite of food when Jesse passes Benji the pepper without a word, and Benji pushes the ketchup closer to Jesse in return.

“So,” Beca chews thoughtfully, “do all drama teachers dress like you do?”

Jesse and Benji share a loaded look, and Benji’s fork clatters a bit onto the plate.

“Benji finally got approval to do a musical theatre workshop for middle school kids,” Jesse offers, allowing Benji to hide his nervousness with his food. “It’s a big day,” he slaps Benji on the shoulder, giving his roommate an encouraging smile. “Big days mean big people clothes.”

Beca can sense that she’s missing something, but since she’s only just met Benji she feels that it isn’t her place to pry.  “So,” she says, bringing the attention back to the composer, “this is a big day for you. Will you be wearing that towel, or are you going to follow your roommate’s example and actually look presentable for once?” She innocently stabs a bit of egg and brings it to her mouth.

Jesse gives her a look, hand going up to retrieve the now sopping wet towel. “You don’t think Doug would appreciate the semi-nudity? I think I pull it off.”

Beca meets his eyes, a challenge in the twinkle of brown and she narrows her own. “I’ve seen better,” she replies loftily, egg disappearing in her clever mouth. Benji ducks his head to hide the laughter.

“Yeah,”Jesse is beaming at her, her response only amusing him further. Winking at Benji he boasts, “I pull it off.”

Snorting at his mock conceit, Beca finishes the last of her eggs, politely setting the cutlery on top of the plate.  She had basically shoveled the eggs into her mouth, her need to get out of this kitchen as soon as possible demanded it of her. Of course now she felt like a right jackass since the boys were still picking at full plates. “That was delicious Benji,” she smiles warmly, ignoring Jesse's impressed look at her empty plate. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, come over any time. I also make waffles!”

She grins at that, but her eye is caught by the way Jesse seems to be having problems swallowing his own food, sneaking a furtive little look up at his roommate.

“And you,” the warm tone totally stripped, and she’s glaring at Jesse with all the force of her interrupted sleep. “Put some pants on. We need to go idiot.”

“Hey,” Jesse protests, spluttering as he chews and pointing in disbelief at a glowing Benji who is contentedly eating his breakfast. “Why does he get the smiles and I get the attitude—I sense favouritism.”

Benji is looking inordinately pleased with himself, looking between the other two like they’re part of some sort of dinner theatre. He bobs a bit as he chews.

“In what world would you be on a top 5 list of  _mine?_ ” she scoffs, pushing the chair back so that she can stand. Her intent was to go rinse her dishes, but she’s not actually sure if they do that? Was there a dishwasher around here...

“So you admit it,” Jesse teases, and suddenly he’s standing too, taking the plate from her small hands. “I’m #6 aren’t I?”

She gives up the plate with an awkward gesture, embarrassed by his close proximity, and even moreso because there’s someone else there to witness it. “Just put some clothes on,” she almost begs, sighing in exasperation at Jesse’s antics, and just really wanting to get to the damn meeting so that she could just go back to her bed. Jesse picks up on this easily.

“I’ll just be a second,” he assures her, gentle eyes and gentle smile.  Ugh.

Beca merely nods her indifference, and definitely does not watch him as he saunters right back out of the kitchen, a proud display of strong back muscles with ever step.  It takes Beca a moment to remember herself, to remember that this was not her own kitchen and that a very lovely guy was looking up at her curiously, his own plate of eggs unfinished.

“I’ll um,” she clears her throat, leaning forward to pick her bag up from the chair, “I’ll be out in the car. Thank you for breakfast Benji,” she smiles, and for the first time since she got there, pushes those sunglasses back up to perch on the crown of her head. Benji’s smile is ready and warm as he bobs his head at her.

“It was nice meeting you,” he replies.

“You too, good luck today.”

It’s with a weird fog in her head and a mutter under her breath that Beca makes her way back to her car.  8:30, it was only 8:30 am.

 

* * *

 

 

“Damn,” Jesse inhales sharply when the gates finally open and Beca is able to drive on through. “So when you said that Doug does well for himself...”

“Yep,” Beca answers, distracted by the fact that she has to drive around a fucking bush at a razor sharp turn.

“You were holding back,” he continues, laughing in disbelief as the house comes into view, and then it’s all 20 bedrooms and gold plated mailboxes for the young composer.

“Totally,” she says in monotone, her face now propped up against the window with her fist, and her fingers are drumming against the steering wheel. An attendant comes out of the service entrance, a stern finger motioning for her to wait as he moves to open the second gate, a much smaller one whose only purpose was to keep Doug’s three dogs in the 4 acre property.

“Is that a moat!?” Jesse cries, face pressed up against the window, and eyes blown wide. This was ridiculous, is all he can think, who the hell needed this much? Did Doug also joust in his spare time? No Jesse, he reprimands himself, he obviously fights dragons in the country Doug called his property.

Beca remains silent, a tick developing in the side of her cheek. The ride over had been...frustrating, to say the least. Jesse had been on his best behaviour, funny quip after funny quip, but he seemed to respect the fact that Beca hadn’t exactly woken up on the right side of the bed this morning (thanks to him, she might argue).  So for the majority of the time, Jesse had remained relatively quiet, smiling to himself for reasons she didn’t want to know about.

No, what had been frustrating was how aware she had been of him the moment he’d jogged down his front steps and into her car.  His hair had still been wet, was what she noticed first, drops of water gathering at the tips of his dark hair before sliding down the planes of his face or neck. It was, enormously distracting, not least of all because she could acknowledge that it made her incredibly hot under the collar. Jesse was attractive, extremely attractive, and the sight of any hot man doused in water was a forgiveable relapse into fantasy-land okay? It was also clear that he hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he hadn’t slept in over 24 hours. Yes, there were slight circles under his eyes (Which meant nothing considering how damn bright those dark eyes shone), but it was the scruff...the scruff that was really more of a day beard at this point.

At one point a drop of water had slid along his temple, down the short hairs of his beard and over the swell of his jaw. He’d swallowed then, Adams apple bobbing as he tried to relay a story to her in his typical enthusiastic fashion. They’d been stopped at a light, and Beca had to actually clench her legs together against the rush of heat at her pelvis.

This car was too small, was what she decided by the time they’d pulled up to Doug’s mansion. The material of Jesse’s burgundy jacket brushes against her own shoulder when he leans over to undo his seatbelt and she is reminded for the fiftieth time of how much space he takes up.

Way too fucking small.

Jesse is out of the car almost the second that she has it in parked.

“You been here before?” he asks casually, leaning against her car door as he turns steady eyes to her struggling figure. Her bag slings up onto her shoulder and she fits him with a cursory glance.

“Huh?” she responds distractedly, occupied by locking her car door (not that anyone in this area would think to steal  _her_  car...unless they were using it for scrap). “Yeah,” she sighs, coming around the car to stand beside him. He waits for her, hands shoved into his pockets and an interested look on his face.

“Doug’s wife, Paula,” she supplies, falling into step with him as they stride towards the front door. He’s about a head taller than her, but his presence isn’t imposing in the least. “Paula hosted a barbeque for the crew of his last film. One of those southern-style types;  checkered tablecloths and the floral print dresses?” he grins when she rolls her eyes at the memory. “Anyways, that was actually the third film I helped with, so Beca Mitchell had a night out on the town with the Hollywood elite.”

“Painting the town red, Miss O’Hara?” he quips, pressing a hand to the small of her back as he slides behind her on the narrow step, the toe of his shoes catching on the stone. “Tell me you wore a dress.”

With her on the top step, and he on the bottom, they are the same height, giving Jesse the opportunity to stare right at her when she turns back to him to grace him with a smirk at his twinkling eyes. “Don’t insult me. I wore shorts like a civilized person.”

He keeps silent at that one.

“Beca Mitchell and Jesse Swanson,” Beca says into the intercom by the door, an impatient jerking of her knees as she gives the button a harsher push than acceptable.  Jesse watches her, amused by her complete inability to relax. He’s sure that she thinks she is, her constant indifference to many if not all matters is well documented and always commented on. Jesse doesn’t believe a lick of it, not when she wields it like a weapon at times, just in case you forgot that she  _didn’t_  care. He’s sure her practiced air comes from a very real place, but Jesse has also seen the other parts that she’s not so skilled at hiding. She has a bit of a temper, though slow to become explosive, but he’s been on the receiving end of one too many clenched jaws and irritated expressions. She’s also incredibly passionate about her music, passionate enough that she swallows down imagined slights so that she can continue working with it. He hasn’t quite seen her truly peaceful unless she was fiddling with a track, or arguing with Constance over edits.  Staring at the back of her head, a mass of curls and knots, Jesse gives a long exhale and lets his eyes slide shut for just a minute.

“Beca,” Jesse’s eyes snap open and there’s Doug, the director. “Jesse,” the man smiles a bit thinly, “please come in. You’re a bit earlier than I expected.”

“Sorry about that,” Beca says as they step through the threshold, shooting Jesse a dry look that he merely quirks his eyebrows at. “We can wait in the foyer if you aren’t quite ready sir.”

“Doug,” the man corrects, weathered face smiling softly as he gestures for them to step further into his home. “I think that you and I have known each other long enough to skip the ‘sirs,’ Ms.Mitchell.”

_Not remotely true_ , Beca thinks, unzipping her leather jacket, which prompts Jesse to do the same, though the composer is eyeing the interior of the mansion with wide eyes. Beca may have worked with Doug in the past, but aside from her presence in rooms when the director had been consulted on something, Beca had very little to do with the man.

“See something you like?” Doug asks, and Beca shoot her gaze to Jesse, who suddenly freezes at the attention.

“Just,” Jesse throws his hand up to gesture around ,”you know...everything. Walmart?” he asks when he points to an ornate statue situated just next to a massive granite table by the wall.

“Not quite,” Doug puzzles, clearly not used to a sense of humour like Jesse’s. “Please, come into my office so we may begin.”

As they watch Doug disappear down the hallway, Beca shoots Jesse a long look. “Walmart?”

He shrugs back helplessly, as if he could control his mouth in awkward situations. “What, I’m pretty sure I saw this exact monstrosity in the Outdoor section. And if he paid more than $30 bucks for it, let me tell you,” he bumps elbows with Beca, “rip off.”

Eyes flying heavenward, Beca merely follows after Doug, leaving Jesse to trail off after her.

“So,” Doug says when Jesse closes the office door behind him. “I can’t wait to hear what you have more me.”

Exchanging a look with Beca, Jesse strides forward, a confident expression on his stubbled face. “And I’m looking forward to hearing what you think about it sir. Just let me...” frowning, Jesse turns, failing to see a piano or any sort of instrument in the room. “Uh, I don’t suppose you have a very expensive piano that blends into walls?”

Confused, Doug cross his arms over his chest and shakes his head. “There is no instrument in this room. You have a music file do you not?”

Stiffening, Jesse’s eyes slide shut.  _That_ , was what he was supposed to have spent last night doing.  Directors were often uncomfortable with hearing a working score on an instrument that would not be encompassing the final copy. They liked to hear what the score might sound like at the end of the process, and Jesse had had every intention of recording a midi file of the sheet music he had, with the instruments he’d had in mind.

Looking back over at Doug who was now frowning, Jesse knew that this was not a good step.

“I don’t,” Jesse admits finally. “But,” he interjects as Doug looks unsurely to Beca, “if you have a piano, I guarantee you that you’ll like what you hear.”

There’s a tense moment when nothing is said, but Jesse maintains his confident stance and earnest expression.

“My daughter has been taking piano since she was 4 years old,” Doug finally says, pushing himself up from the desk he was leaning against, and striding closer to Jesse. “Let me hear of your plans first. We may use her piano after I hear this.”

“Okay,” Jesse barrels right into it, not at all mindful of the more professional attitude he should probably take towards all this. Jesse was passionate about film music, and he would never apologize for being over exuberant for something he loved, especially not when he was also selling that passion at the same time.

“Your film is incredibly natural,” he starts, moving to the center of the room to better grasp Doug’s attention. “Your shots come from the emotional connections of the characters rather than perfunctory glimpses at the actors. It’s beautiful,” Jesse gushes, and Doug’s lip quirks a bit at the side, listening to the young composer with growing interest. From behind Jesse, seated on a leather backed chair, Beca just watches the fervor grow in Jesse’s whole body. She hadn’t heard any of his plans yet, this was as new to her as it was to Doug. “And I think that the music should reflect that. No traditional string pieces, I think that the music should be meta-diegetic.” Beca’s eyebrows fly up at the suggestion.

“Meta-diegetic,” Doug repeats, forehead creasing, and Beca sees the telltale panic Doug gets when he’s out of his element amidst his craft. “What is that?”

“Most music is non-diegetic, it comes from a source outside of the film, it backs up the images,” Jesse explains patiently, hands flying up into odd gestures as he articulates. “Diegetic music is source music, it’s the dialogue, it’s the sound of a door slamming when the character slams it. Meta-diegetic starts somewhere in the film, and then moves outside of it. You remember the film Atonement?” he asks, and Doug nods along with the question, struggling to follow. “Dario Marianelli used the sounds of the typewriter that you heard in the film and turned them into a score under the film. You might hear a character play some tune on a piano at some point in the movie and then later hear it as a string movement in the score.”

“That seems unnecessarily complicated,” Doug says, eyes flitting between Jesse and Beca.

“It’s not,” Jesse assures, “in fact it creates deeper emotional and thematic connections between your characters and the audience. This is what I want to  _do_. Lilah and Daniel have a bond brought by the abuse they suffered under their family, a concept that is still the driving force behind your whole film. That bond can be continually represented throughout their separation by the music—I’ll explain that in a second,” he almost chokes, giving himself no time to swallow before he barrels through to his next point. “Lilah is a deeply organic character, she feels and muses about everything she sees because she is unable to connect with her own reality. She seeks it in exterior things.  My plan was to take the diegetic sound you already had, like the blare of car horns, the scuffle of her shoes to spontaneously move into the score that I’ve been writing.  Using sound outside of instruments, initially, will make the score more meaningful later on when the 15 piece orchestra is playing those same notes.”

Doug is speechless, astounded at the depth of feeling that Jesse is conveying about his film, a film that Doug is still incredibly insecure about. Beca, still seated behind Jesse is staring at him in similar dumbfounded amazement. She had not expected this when she’d sat through several minutes of piano keys and guitar strings at 7 in the morning.

“And Lilah,” Jesse blows through like a freight train, stepping closer to Doug. “Lilah’s sound should be best represented by either the viola...maybe the piano. Daniel the cello, their mother the oboe because she’s untrustworthy--”

“I don’t understand, the oboe?”

Jesse, encouraged by the interest, smiles. “The oboe is traditionally used to signify deceit, the snake. Reed instruments tend to be used in film to show an untrustworthy character.”

“Oh,” is all Doug says, and clears his throat. “Continue.”

“The specific instruments...or maybe the melodies when you hear them, can relate to certain characters or themes and I think that it would give your film another level if you were to use them. Take the theme you hear when Lilah is travelling the city alone, and place it over the scenes with Daniel in the school. Give the audience more than they are seeing or hearing.  _Force them,”_ Jesse steps closer, fire in his eyes and a flash of white teeth as he urges Doug to understand him, “to make emotional connections without them even knowing it.”

There is a long pause and the sound of silence after such a long winded speech is jarring. Jesse shifts in the silence, face screwing up in the awkwardness.  “Uh,” he rubs the back of his neck, “that was it.”

Beca...Beca is floored. Yes, she would use that word to describe herself right now. She had had the opportunity to work with some talented composers, many of which had similar ideas to Jesse’s, but the sensitivity that Jesse had not only to the music but to Doug’s film itself was...something. Her mouth is unforgivably dry as she swallows down the lump that had settled there when she was too busy listening to breathe properly. She’s surprised, impressed, and there’s a tingle of admiration there as she takes in the expressive breadth of his hands and the confident slope of his shoulders. He believes in this. She can only wonder what the score sounds like in his head.

Looking over at Doug though, Beca sees that the man is overwhelmed.  _Shit_ , she thinks, that did not bode well.

“That sounds very...interesting,” is the word he chooses, and Beca winces when she sees the slight flinch in Jesse’s shoulders. “I really appreciate the thought you’ve put into my movie, really,” and it’s with a touched smile that Doug says this. “I just, I’m having trouble picturing it.”

Undeterred, Jesse gestures towards the door, “I can understand that. Let me just play you—“

“Here,” Doug interjects, a nervous twitch as he moves towards the door. “Why don’t we first move to the den and I can show you the temporary tracks I’ve found that I thought would go best with the scenes. They’re really quite good, I think that you might—“

“Doug,” Beca interjects, and for the first time since he started his word vomit, Jesse’s eyes snap to her. “You haven’t heard the actual score yet. Why don’t you let Jesse play you what he has in mind. We can listen to the temporary tracks after so that Jesse gets a better idea of what you want.”

“Yes, well, yes alright,” Doug says, and Beca doesn’t imagine the relief that takes over his features at being directed through all of this. Beca was sympathetic, she was. Someone as sensitive, artistic, and nervous about his craft did not make an easy person to work with when he felt out of his element. She could respect that, but she also knew now that Jesse was what this film wanted.

Their eyes meet across the room, and Beca finds it hard to look away. There’s a grateful smile to his lips, a loosening of his shoulders, but what grabs Beca is the intensity in Jesse’s gaze as he holds her in it. She shivers beneath her jacket as she stands to follow Doug out, unable to tear herself away as Jesse comes closer.

“Thank you,” he whispers simply, his hand rising to squeeze her shoulder. He expects a rather violent shrug that will send his body as far away from hers as possible but she surprises him though. Looking him in the eye, there’s a far softer expression than he’s become used to receiving in the short time that they’ve known each other. She lets the grasp linger before elbowing him slightly in the ribs.

“Just don’t suddenly forget how to play the piano, okay?”

 

* * *

 

When the door is slammed behind them, Beca takes a moment on the step to collect herself. Beside her, Jesse comes to an abrupt stop, nervous energy practically making him vibrate under his jacket.

“He liked it,” Jesse says in awe, looking up to the sun like he hadn’t quite seen it before. “An academy nominated director liked my score. I feel like a  _King_.” Beca averts her eyes when Jesse swings his arms out wide, addressing his imaginary followers with closed eyes and a euphoric expression.

Beca bites into her cheek as she lets him have his little moment, Doug’s words a sober loop through her head. “It’s not a score yet nerd,” she reminds him, but let’s him bump shoulders with her as they walk down the step.

“But he likes the direction Beca,” he counters, dimpled smile invading her very personal space. She’s doing her best to stare towards her car, occupying her hands with retrieving her keys from her bag. She forgets how new he is to all of this, how this was his first big movie score. Thomas Newton Howard or Hans Zimmer probably would have taken the critiques, nodded sagely and then retreated back to their work spaces to churn out another hit. If Beca hadn’t dragged Jesse out of that house after Doug complimented Jesse’s melodies when she did, the guy probably would have been hugging Doug at that very moment.

“Remember that he wants a midi file by Monday,” she glances at him over the top of her sunglasses, trying to level him with her stare. “I can’t  _believe_  you didn’t bring one with you.”

Jesse is dismissive of her judgemental tone and claps his hands together. “Right yeah, no problem. I wish I had a better program though, it doesn’t mix so well you know? Hey,” he stops her with a hand on her shoulder, “do you think I could use the equipment at the studio? I mean, it’s for the movie. It’s not like I’m mixing the Happy Birthday Song for a clandestine affair. “

Beca looks from his hand to his face, eyebrows raised. What the  _hell_  was he even talking about? “Simon probably wouldn’t like it,” she answers after a while, and watches his smile droop slightly at the corners. She can see him recalculating the whole situation, his eyes looking past her. It might have been the sun, the lack of sleep, or just a lapse in judgement, but—

“You can use mine,” she blurts, feeling the poison of the words the second they leave her mouth. Ah damnit.

“Use your what,” Jesse says, eyes steady on her own now, and a cute pucker of confusion at his brow.

“I have my own studio,” she explains, brushing his hand off of her shoulder as she moves to round the car. “It’s nothing fancy, but I needed a place where I could mix my own tracks without Simon riding my ass. It has Protools, it should be more than enough for you.”

He’s staring at her from over the top of the car, an unyielding stare that has Beca warming under the collar.

“That’s...” he starts, blinking back at her like he can’t quite decide what to do with his face. “Are you sure?”

“Just get in,” she sighs, in no mood for his gratitude and his annoying habit of putting more meaning into things that simply didn’t have any. Film people, she thinks with a resigned sigh. The thing is, the longer that her offer is out there (the opportunity rolling around Jesse’s head), Beca feels more and more calm about it. You have to understand, Beca Mitchell did not let just anyone into her personal space. The fact that she’d offered---no. It was for professional reasons, it served the project’s purpose and she could admit that she liked this boy. He was unforgivably annoying, but she was growing used to it. He was like a bad habit, the burning taste of scotch. She liked her scotch.

To Jesse’s credit, he gets in without a sound, quiet for once in his life. The adrenaline seems to have worn off, because he’s doing a lot less vibrating and a lot more staring at her. She flashes him one warning look before shoving the keys into the ignition.

And because this is her life, her phone rings just as she’s pulling out and down towards the armoured gates.

“It’s probably Amy,” she says, convincing herself that she is not embarrassed that ‘ _No Diggity_ ’ is screaming boisterously throughout her whole car. It’s too far for her to reach right now, especially when she has to smile pretty for the security at Doug’s fortress of overcompensation. “Shit, I was supposed to pick her up,” she worries her lip, gaze shooting from Jesse’s curious expression to the still ringing cell phone.  

Fuck it, Amy would just have to keep her pants on until she got there.

The phone cries out that it likes the way she works it, one more time before falling silent.

“You know,” Jesse drawls, speaking to her as if something obvious had completely escaped her. “I could have answered the phone. I’ve been known to be a civilized human being on occasion.”

Beca snorts, but not at his comment because he has no idea what kind of bullet he just dodged with that one.

“No,” Beca barks a hysterically amused little laugh, and they peel out of the driveway with the squeal of rubber against pavement. “She would have asked you about your penis,” she grins at his look of surprise, a mischievous smile that he has never seen on her before. He swallows hard at the sultry edge her lips make, unable to keep his eyes off it.

“You aren’t ready for that quite yet. Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To address some questions!
> 
> 1\. Kim is not Kimmy, yes I know, they are almost the same character. My use of this character was moreso out of a brief shoutout to Kimmy Jin, but rest assured it is not her. You also probably won't be seeing much of this intern again.
> 
> 2\. Chloe will be in the next chapter, Aubrey will not be in anything for a while. Sorry!
> 
>  
> 
> 3\. There will be flashback chapters, especially after Beca finds out who Jesse actually is (which is happening in the next chapter), and all will be explained about why she doesn't really know him (or remember him).
> 
> 4\. This is not a recreation of the film, the storyline, while hinting at certain elements is going to diverge. It's AU!
> 
> If you have any more questions, please feel free to ask them in the reviews, or message me on tumblr (map-it-out). I like hearing from you!
> 
> References
> 
> "Hello" (1984) - Lionel Richie
> 
> "No Diggity" (1996) - Blackstreet
> 
> Gone With The Wind (1939) - dir., Victor Fleming


	6. On reunions & recollections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A capella,” Jesse provides at her side, completely unsuspecting of the reason for all the blood to leave Beca’s face in one fell swoop. “I did a capella with Amy in University.”
> 
> Oh holy fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...it's been basically two months since I've updated this. As I said before, a lot of that has to do with real life, and a loss in motivation, but I hope that you guys like this chapter! It may feel a bit slow since it's been a while but I promise that things will pick up soon. Thank you so much for all your kind words, especially a certain few who have sent me lovely reviews and private messages. You really made my day, and one day I promise to personally reply to each of you. 
> 
> Unbeta'd so it could get out more quickly, so forgive me!

“Anyone ever tell you that you drive like a crazy person?”

 

She has her hand on the radio tuner, eyes barely on the road. There’s a cold breeze coming from the open window and it blows unruly hair across her forehead when she looks at him. “What?”

 

“All I’m saying is,” he winces when she comes to an abrupt stop at the next light, his knuckles white where they’re gripping the lip of the dashboard. “I’m glad that I’m wearing a seatbelt.”

 

Beca rolls her eyes, making a point of pressing hard on the tuner button as she does. “This coming from someone who doesn’t even own a car?”

 

Jesse merely smiles.

 

“I have a license,” he says loftily, watching her with steady curiosity as she rests her hand back on the wheel, only to have her fingers fly back to the radio with a disgruntled sigh. “And I’m starting to think,” she skips the next 4 songs in quick succession, “that I might have a better track record than you--Here,” he sets a hand on her wrist with a sigh full of amusement, ignoring the way she freezes in her seat at his touch. “Watch the road Bullit.”

 

She let’s him flip through the radio stations, her eyes settling back up to the traffic. Amy had been waiting for 40 minutes now. Beca knew this because Amy had called a further 5 times since Beca had peeled out of Doug’s front gate. “No Diggity” had filled the gaps in conversation like an embarrassing secret, each time her phone cooed out how much it liked the way she worked it, Beca felt her scowl grow deeper and deeper. Jesse had wisely kept his mouth shut after that first ring, but he was complete shit at keeping a straight face. Every call brought out those dimples as he struggled to press his lips as tightly together as possible. He was fooling no one.

 

Still, Beca hadn’t bothered answering the phone.  Having the whole “what-the-hell-were-you-doing-with-your-composer” conversation while he was in the car was not high on her list of things she wanted to be doing today. Well, neither was waking up at an obscene hour of the morning, but you can’t always get what you want can you?

 

Jesse settles on a Lionel Ritchie song, and Beca isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be some twisted shoutout to what she’d walked in on earlier, or if he just had a weird thing for the man. She shoots him a look over her sunglasses, but he’s too busy tapping out a rhythm on his thigh to pay her any mind.  
  
She makes a hard left in return, biting her smile when he can’t hide the grunt of discomfort as his head smacks into the car window.

 

“ _Christ_ , I want to be alive to see this score finished Beca. You know this right?”

 

“I’m not so sure that we need you,” she says airily, eyes trained intently on the road again, hair once again in her face. “You heard the captain, he has some _really_ great temp music,” she gushes sarcastically,  satisfied when Jesse merely rolls his eyes and settles back into his seat.  “Why have a crescendo of violins when you can have the dulcet tones of Olivia Newton John?”

 

“Because this movie isn’t an 80s aerobics video?” he supplies helpfully, though unsure if this was Beca’s roundabout way of telling him that she wasn’t too enthused about his score plan.  He keeps his eyes on her as she flips someone off for cutting in front of her.  
  
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she deadpans, his gaze going unnoticed.

 

“What do you think of it,” he says after a few moments, and Beca is caught by the tone of his voice, enough that she turns her head to meet his gaze instead of safely keeping her eyes on the road.

 

“Of 80s aerobics videos?” she shrugs, “I like the spandex I guess.”

 

“No,” he licks his lips and laughs softly at the cute furrow in her brow. “I mean of my score. You didn’t say much at the meeting.”

 

Beca’s eyebrow goes sky high for a moment as she considers him. “Well, I would think my defending you would be answer enough wouldn’t it?”

 

“Yeah I guess so,” Jesse holds her gaze for a moment longer, and she watches his lip tighten a bit at the corner. “Hey,” he interrupts himself and jerks a thumb towards the towering studio sign looming before the car. “think we could break into one of the dressing rooms? I hear that there’s a 1 in 4 chance that we can find cocaine,” his grin could cut a tin can.  “Or skittles.”

 

He isn’t satisfied with her answer, she can tell by the slump in his shoulders. She worries her lip as she wonders when her opinion mattered so much to him....or when she cared why he cared why her opinion mattered to him.  
  
They’re pulling up to the front of the building where Beca can see the blurry figure of Amy at the end of the lot, but for some reason she slows down.

 

“Jesse,” she clears her throat, waits for him to turn to her with an attentive expression. She sighs.  “You know that I--your ideas I mean,” she rolls her eyes at her lack of grace. Comforting is not really her forte. “They’re good,” she’s holding his surprised gaze now, wide and unbearably brown as they stare back at her. “You’re trying to do something different, and I guess you could say that I’m,” she struggles for a minute, voice kind of trailing off with discomfort “...impressed.”

 

She clears her throat again, saying nothing as she puts more weight on the gas pedal and tears her eyes away from his. _There_ was the authenticity of the grin that he’d been missing only moments before; blindingly appreciative and soft.  Gross.

 

“Thanks Beca,” he says simply, recognizing the effort it took to admit anything at all, and making as little of a deal of it as possible lest she kick him out of the car. Except...

 

“Had to really push through for that one huh?”

 

“Oh shut up,” she mutters,  but her lip quirks up at the side anyways.  
  
Amy is a clear cut figure in denim and bright purple, hands on hips and sunglasses covering half of her pale face at the curb. It occurs to Beca then, as they get closer to the curb, that Jesse is about to be descended upon like a chocolate cake at a birthday party. She was essentially feeding him to the wolves...or, wolf.

 

“I would warn you about this,” she gestures forward as the car comes to a stop, a slow grin stretching her face as Jesse looks past her curtain of hair to get a look at Amy. “But you know?” his eyes skip to hers in time to catch the evil glint there, “ I think I’m going to enjoy it.”  
  
“I’ll gird my loins,” he assures her, not at all put out by her words. If anything, he looks intrigued.

 

“That may not be enough,” she smiles sympathetically and turns away from him to hang her head out of the car window. “Hey you,” she calls out to Amy as the blond gets closer, “how much?”

 

“One bottle of wine and a re-enactment of Pretty Woman,” Amy returns, not at all put-out by Beca’s lateness. “But not the piano bit,” Amy shoves her sunglasses up, her blonde hair catching in the diamond studs. “Your deadline for ravishing me in a seductive matter was 40 minutes ago.”

 

“Damnit,” Beca sucks in a breath. “But I’ve been practicing my ridiculous fear of heights all week! Now who will I screw in my penthouse?”

 

“Well if you’re looking for volunteers,” comes Jesse’s muttered exposition, and Beca shoots him a look over her seatbelt for his trouble. His comfort level with her was beginning to annoy.

 

“Oi,” Amy interrupts, coming closer so that she can toss her bag in the back seat. “You pick someone up on the corner?”

 

“No, this is--”

 

There is a moment between Amy finally leaning down by the window to take a better look at the passenger, and Jesse lifting his hand in a pre-emptive wave, that everything is relatively normal. That moment passes almost instantaneously when they get a good look at one another.

 

“ _Treble_!” Amy hisses like she’s conjured the devil himself, and Beca blanches when Amy practically launches herself through the window to get a better look at him, like she can’t quite believe it until her face is pressed as closely to his own.

 

“Amy?” Jesse gets out at exactly the same time, and Beca has never seen his face drop of all expression so quickly.  What the fuck was--

 

“Holy shit, I can’t believe it--”

“You have something on your face. A bear I think”

“You’re really fucking famous--”

“Like a miniature chewbacca--”

 

“Stop!” Beca shouts, confusion stretching the muscles in her face uncomfortably as she looks between the two idiots. Jesse is positively beaming despite his surprise, while Amy is no less pleased, but playing cool as she leans half way through the window, her upper body pinning Beca back into her seat. “Stop talking over me like I’m---Amy _that is my god damn boob_ ” she growls when said best friend uses her chest to pull herself further into the car.

 

“Sorry,” Amy whispers quietly, patting said boob as she slowly moves back out of the car window.

 

“How do you even know eachother?” she almost accuses, head whipping back and forth between the two most unlikely people to ever share something as significant as a _past_. “Did you stalk me at work Amy? I fucking told you not to facebook the composer. You aren’t supposed to use your powers of fame for evil...” the words trail off as Amy’s face transforms into a gleeful expression, and Beca furrows her brow.

 

“This is him?” Amy crows, and the beaming smile is reaching scary Joker levels. “This, this fella right here.”

 

“Jesse,” he arches a brow, looking between the two women with growing confusion. Beca scowls at Amy.  “Amy-”

 

“With all the fur on his face.”

 

“Yes, my god--”

 

“So. You’ve been Treble-boned.”

 

Treble...

 

“A capella,” Jesse provides at her side, completely unsuspecting of the reason for all the blood to leave Beca’s face in one fell swoop. “I did a capella with Amy in University.”

 

Oh holy fuck.

 

* * *

 

The horrified expression doesn’t leave Beca’s face for several hours. It doesn’t leave when Amy piles into the backseat of her car, leaning bodily through the space between Beca and Jesse in order to talk Jesse’s ear off (something he did not mind at all. Beca was perturbed by how wide his smile had gotten).  It doesn’t leave her face when Amy demands that they pull into one of her favourite bars. Well, it _is_ traded for momentary terror after Amy grabs the steering wheel when Beca refuses to pull over, but that’s to be expected.

 

It certainly doesn’t leave when the three of them are piled into a corner booth, beer sloshing onto the beaten wooden table with every dramatic gesture as Amy tells Jesse a story. Beca can only nurse her own coffee and blink at the sticky wood.

 

She remembers him, that’s the worst part. She’s not sure how she could have missed it when she first laid eyes on him.

 

And today was a particularly bad example. He was wearing a burgundy coat for God’s sake, like some huge cosmic joke. Someone, somewhere was trying to make it painfully obvious to little Beca Mitchell, and still she hadn’t made any connection. It wasn’t even like he looked that different, she thinks, risking a glance up to Jesse who is still captivated by Amy’s exuberant storytelling. The dimples are so painfully clear in her memories of him, not to mention that mop of auburn hair that had only darkened with age.

 

She refuses to think that time had been kind to him. Her eyes trail down the line of his throat anyways. Her mind goes even further down the memory of the rippling lines of his abdomen that morning.

 

She’s brought back from her musings by Jesse’s deep chuckle which make the muscles in his throat flex.

 

“I can’t believe this,” he says, a hand running through his hair as if to make his point. “All this time, Beca had been mentioning an Amy, and here you are. Like I wrote you into a scene.”

 

“Aw, you been talking about me wife?” Amy winks, looping an arm around Beca’s neck and bringing the smaller girl uncomfortably close to her chest. “I thought our love was an illicit secret. Never to leave the bedroom.”

 

Beca manages to snort at that, only enduring Amy’s teasing as long as she has to sit there for. She really wants to leave. She can’t even look Jesse in the eye.

 

It’s something he’s definitely noticed, and she can feel his gaze on the side of her face at every other second of the conversation. It’s an unwelcome feeling, and she wonders scathingly if he has any cash for a cab.

 

“Alright champs,” Amy interrupts boisterously, making a gun sign with her fingers as she points between them. “I need to free my kidney’s of their strain. Excuse me,” she slides along the bench, keeping her eyes on Beca’s death glare with a cheery smile of her own. “No making out until I’m back!” she sing-songs.

 

Jesse exhales a small laugh as Amy disappears, his attention now fully on the lone occupant of the other bench.

 

Beca refuses to make small talk after this deception.

 

Well okay, he didn’t know either. But. Whatever.

 

“Alright,” his voice comes out clear, his eyes encouraging her to look back at him. “I haven’t known you long enough to wonder if the whole silent treatment is just how you socialize, but uh,” he attempts to chuckle, gesturing between the two of them with his finger, “this whole no eye contact thing is new.”

 

She clears her throat and offers him a tight smile, knocking back her coffee.

 

Jesse sighs.

 

“What’s the problem Beca,” he leans forward, and when she risks a look up she can see the line between his brow puckered with his confusion. She hears the taut sound of frustration in his voice. “This morning we were good weren’t we?”

 

Beca looks at him then, really looks at him, and feels an embarrassing frisson of guilt for half a second. He looks sincerely put out, tired even. She struggles to find an answer for him.

 

“I remember you,” is what she finally decides on.

 

That throws him.

 

“What do you mean,” he questions, laying his palms flat on the wood, and leans forward.

 

“Exactly what I said dummy,” she sighs, thumbs the rim of her coffee cup for a moment, before decidedly shoving it away. “Barden, the whole a capella thing. I remember you.”

 

She would never call Jesse particularly slow, but he just sits there for a moment, blinking at her.

 

“Wait,” he says, and Beca rolls her eyes at him. “We knew each other?” His voice is growing slightly alarmed at this new information. She’d laugh, but she decides to humour him instead.

 

“Well I wouldn’t go that far,” she smiles a little, fingers flying back to the lip of her coffee cup. He looks like he’s having a rough time with this, his eyes are wide under the deeply furrowed brow. He’s staring at her like he’s only just seen her for the first time.

 

“We worked at the radio station together,” she decides to help him out, “for about a week before you disappeared actually.” The words bring about the memories, brief and well buried as they were. She did remember him, but she truly hadn’t thought about him since the last time she’d seen him (on stage, covered in puke). He’d come into the radio station that first day, wide smiles and bright eyes, not dimming in the slightest when she’d cut off any attempt at socializing, or when Luke had called him by the wrong name.

 

She’d endured a whole week of his harmless flirtations and steady gazes before he just disappeared. She hadn’t cared, she hadn’t even remembered his name when she saw him at one of Amy’s a capella events later that year. But she did remember him.

 

And judging by the clarity in his eyes, he was remembering her too.

 

“The ear spike right?” he almost laughs and slaps the table, marvelling at the chances of the two of them ending up here, 10 years after they’d first met. “Holy shit,” he says in a breathy exhale, watching her with stunned eyes.

 

She smiles tightly, and goes back to thumbing the rim of her coffee cup, wondering when Amy was getting back. How long did it take to pee?

 

“Wait,” he says, and she looks up to catch his dimming smile, “is that why you’re pissed?”

 

“I’m not pissed,” she says defensively, coffee cup forgotten.

 

He snorts, “you’re totally pissed.”

 

“I am _not_ -” she begins to snap, but quickly remembers that they are very much in public, and she very much does not want a scene. “I am not pissed,” she repeats, making sure he knows from the emphatic tone alone.

 

He just shakes his head. “Well you’re doing a pretty good impression of it. Are you actually mad that I didn’t remember you?” he laughs like she’s told a good joke and leans back against the booth. “Come on Beca, you probably didn’t say more than 5 words to me the first time around. It’s been a decade.”

 

“Oh are we doing this right now?” she laughs snidely, eyebrows flown way up. “Don’t inflate your own ego there sweetheart, you were barely a passing thought.”

 

“Then what’s your deal,” he says firmly, and she can hear the frustration that had tightened his tone before. “You’re acting like I punched you in the face.”

 

“I’m not pissed,” she stresses again, as if to alleviate whatever thoughts he has in his head. “I’m just--” she sighs, screwing her face up as she drops her gaze back down to the ruined wood of the table. “I left that school after a year, left it to the dust. Amy is the only thing I kept from then. You get me?”

 

He considers her for a moment, and she can tell that he thinks he does, but doesn’t.

 

“You don’t like a reminder?” he says it like she’s a bit ridiculous.

 

“No,” _moron_ , she gives him a hard look. “it just seems that it follows me wherever I go. Plus,” and she makes a cute little face as she scrunches her nose. “I hate feeling like an idiot. And Jesus Christ you a capella people spring up like god damn daisies.”

 

He licks his lip, taking a moment before speaking. “Well,” he starts and leans forward so that he’s about a foot away from her face. “I’m the idiot. Forgetting a pretty girl?” He tisks. “Scary ear spike or not, no man should forget a death glare like that.”

 

She pushes her tongue to the inside of her cheek as she shakes her head at him. Adorable fool.

“Smooth.”

 

His eyes are back to sparkling, but he’s still looking at her like her words are doing laps in his head. “I thought so.”

 

She sits there, watching him for a moment and considers his question. Why was she so...bothered by this? Yes she didn’t like reminders of Barden, it came with memories of her relationship problems with her Father, not to mention how angry she’d been at that god forsaken place. She didn’t give a rats ass that he hadn’t remembered her, she hadn’t given him a second thought after he’d stopped coming to the radio station.

 

She’d been honest about the feeling like an idiot thing. She’d walked around for two weeks not knowing who he really was, not knowing that they shared some sort of history (as small as it was). That bothered her. It bothered her a whole hell of a lot.

 

But she still wasn’t sure exactly why.

 

She looks up at him to find him watching her again. Does he ever _not_ smile?

 

“Alright,” comes Amy’s voice from nowhere. “What base did you get to while I was in the lady’s?”

 

“Strike out,” Beca informs her, sliding over so that Amy can take her seat back.

 

“Oh come on,” Jesse plays along, looking affronted. “I easily slid into first base.”

 

“In your dreams,” Beca replies sweetly, and Jesse laughs.

 

“Speaking of sliding into things,” Amy interrupts, looking between the two with a devious expression on her face.

 

Oh no.

 

“No Amy,” Beca sighs under her breath before snapping her fingers at a passing waitress. “Ya, you know when I told you that there would be nothing for me? Change of plans. Get me a margarita.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Now it looks a little blustery out there,” Amy provides somewhat helpfully, face pressed right against the glass of the door. “Best strap in,” she hiccups, “lest the cow flies away.”

 

“I think you’re trying to make a really obscure _Twister_ reference,” Jesse grunts, tightening his grip on Beca as the unconscious brunette’s head glances off of his shoulder and into the potted plant beside them. “ _Shit,_ let’s just move you over here...”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Amy accuses, faring only marginally better than Beca in that she is at least sober enough to stay upright. She watches him struggle to keep Beca against him and not the floor, but for so tiny a person, Beca is dead weight when asleep. “I was refer..refr..” she sighs, and takes a seat on the bench just within the bar entrance. “What’s that film with the three prats without vital organs?”

 

Jesse’s eyebrows go way up and he just stares at her.

 

“And the witch that dies when she bathes,” Amy continues, slumping against her seat.

 

Mindful of the fact that Beca’s fingers are digging into the skin of his shoulder as she reflexively burrows closer to him, Jesse swallows hard and feels a little like sitting down himself. “The Wizard of Oz,” he supplies after a few moments, and blanches when Beca’s hair suddenly attacks his mouth.  

 

“Good man,” Amy winks, before thrusting her arms out and collapsing back onto the bench like some sort of drunk angel. “Now get the car Jeeves.”

 

Jesse blows a piece of Beca’s hair away from his lips and shakes his head. Amy wasn’t even that drunk, Jesse would wager buzzed with an excess of work fatigue that has her motionless on the bench. She’d only had one beer and a margarita to go with Beca’s first, but had smartly cut herself off after the 2nd tequila shot. Jesse hadn’t even had time to finish off the rest of his first beer. Beca had downed her first drink in an impressive 5 seconds, and followed it up with 5 tequila shots. She hadn’t listened to a single warning from Jesse the entire time. When he tried to grab the tequila from her, she’d just moved her party to the bar.

 

And now she was sleeping like the dead. Against his left side.

 

He wondered how a 27 year old woman could get drunk so quickly off of barely 4 drinks, but this was a woman who had eaten half a plate of scrambled eggs at 8 in the morning, and nothing else.

 

Jesse licked his lips and wondered how he was going to get both of them home.

 

“Amy,” he prods, kicking her lightly with the toe of his shoe.

 

“Ngh,” she responds, eyes still firmly shut, legs askew.

 

“Amy, I’m going to drive you home, but I need you to help me put Beca in the car.”

 

“Nnngh?” comes the slight variation, but she doesn’t move an inch. Jesse can see that the diamond studded sunglasses that she’d shoved into her hair are slowly falling off of the back of her head and closer to the tiled ground. He doesn’t bother to warn her. Against his neck, Beca breaths rhythmically, warm breath ghosting the line of his bicep.

 

“This is,” he says slowly but almost cheerfully to himself,  “slowly becoming one of your worst nightmares Jesse. Well done.”

 

“You Trebles,” Amy sing songs, blindly reaching out for him to pat his knee. “Always so dramatic.” The closest she gets is the potted plant that Beca had nearly pitched into before. She pats it anyways.

 

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Jesse takes a long look at the prostrate Amy, before turning to tuck Beca’s head underneath his chin. “Amy, you’d be a real pal if you opened that door for me.”

 

“Nah,” she says, but is slowly getting up anyways, her elbows coming back to support her weight and prop her up. “Just toss her through,” she makes a clicking sound with her teeth and nods towards the plate glass door. “She can ride the wind.”

 

Jesse shoots her an incredulous look, struggling to move Beca in front of him so that he can pick her up bridal style. For a petite unconscious person, she’s about as flexible as stone.

 

“Amy,” he grunts,  catching Beca at the knees and hoisting her up towards his chest. “Beca gave me permission to leave you here if I had to so can you just--” he winces when Beca’s head smacks back into his collarbone, the graceful tucked in position he’d envisioned in his mind is not exactly coming to pass.

 

“You’re like a pair of marrieds,” she grins, cooing at the sight of her best friend pressed against Jesse’s chest, Beca’s small hands tangled around his neck. “Clickety click,” she feigns taking a picture of the scene, fingers held up like they’re actually holding a camera, her one eye squinted closed.  Jesse gives a pained laugh.

 

“Scrapbook this later, she’s getting heavy.”

 

Amy barks a bit of a laugh, sliding off of the bench with all the grace of a drunk rhinoceras, and trudges towards the door. “I’m telling her you said that,” she informs him cheekily, pulling the door back violently enough that the glass shakes in its frame.

 

“What happened to the bonds of Acapella?” he steps through, careful not to hit Beca’s head off of anything as he does. “Didn’t you seal that shit in bloo--holy shit it is _cold!”_ he gasps, actually pressing Beca tighter against him as a rough wind nearly blows the hair off of his head. He mouths an inaudible ‘fuck’ against Beca’s curls, not bothering to turn around to see if Amy was following him yet.

 

“Aw, is that bear on your face not keeping you warm?”

 

Jesse chuckle comes out more like an involuntary spasm of sound and he winces when the wind blows past them again, making it hard as all hell to see where Beca had parked the damn car. Amy, who had skipped up beside him during this brief pause is all red lips and sharp smiles as she looks at him, strangely obsessed with the _slight_ scruff on his face. And it was slight people, it sure as hell wasn’t a full beard.  

 

“I’ll have you know that my animal friend doesn’t appreciate your tone,” he burrows deeper into Beca’s body warmth, only then realizing that he’s left his fucking jacket inside of her car, and is really in nothing more than a thin t-shirt. Well, excellent job being an adult Jesse, he thinks to himself, before turning slightly to see Amy loping up beside him.  “And no, he’s not.”

 

“You Trebles were always weak,” she says not unkindly, affectionately pinching his cheek before darting past him and towards Beca’s car.  Jostled by Amy’s uncoordinated movements, Beca stirs briefly against Jesse’s chest, her lips pressed against the skin of his throat where he swallows deeply at the touch.

 

Oh holy fuck.

He makes a small noise of protest (whether to Beca’s touch or Amy’s) but merely strides closer to the car, gentle lest he wake Beca. “You’re right, a flight attendant uniform definitely would have forced me to become more of a man. Those blazers coddled me.”

 

“You do look less like a 14 year old girl,” Amy diverts the subject, looking at him like this has been her real train of thought this whole time, though Jesse is a bit distracted to hear her properly. “Your hands got bigger. And your shoulders,” her eyes trail the breadth that is currently supporting her dead looking best mate.  “What about your penis?”

 

“Huh?” Jesse asks, finally able to lean Beca against the trunk of the car, careful to keep his hand at her neck so that it doesn’t fall back in an excellent impression of a limp fish. His eyes trail her face then, taking in the soft flutter of her eyelashes, and the parting of her lips at every breath. He feels like he’s been struggling to comprehend this girl all day, nothing she has done or said has fallen in line with what he’s come to expect of her, least of all the trust she’d put in him when she’d lumbered back over to their table, laid her hand against his cheek and informed him that she was good and drunk now, and that he had better take her home now, or he would be getting none of her “protools.” She’d then slumped against a fairly belligerent Amy.

 

“Your dick,” Amy repeats,  bringing Jesse out of his thoughts with the cheerful tone. “Can Beca attest to its size yet?”

 

Jesse whips his head back at the mention of Beca’s name...and then he registers the few words before it. He blushes.

 

“She has not,” Jesse does his best to appear suitably affronted, a gentlemen in defense of his lady friend. Amy grins a wide red smile, and bumps shoulders with him and how absolute shit he is at being cool.

 

She tells him as much.

 

“You’re really shit at this James Bond thing.”

 

“If you mean killing people,” Jesse raises his free hand in surrender, “you’re absolutely right. I cried when I ran over a squirrel once...” he grimaces, “and I think I might start crying again at the memory thanks.”

 

Amy pinches him hard in the fleshy part of his side, and moves herself closer so that she can slip her chin onto his shoulder. Well now, he thinks, smiling in fond exasperation, what a picture the three of them must make now. Beca’s head slumps forward onto his shoulder, and his fingers flex protectively around the small of her back.

 

“If you’re going to white knight my friend,” Amy  says conspiratorially, practically digging a finger into the side of his cheek. “Here’s a tip loverboy; don’t.” She smiles a bit softer then, but her grip doesn’t lessen to match it. “Beca is like a pint-sized lioness that speaks only one language,” Jesse’s eyes widen at the imagery. “And it is not the language of love my gentle hairy friend. It is the language of carnivorous man-eating. So this whole lovestruck doofus thing, ain’t going to cut it Simba.”

 

Jesse isn’t sure where this going, where it is coming from, or why Amy has a penchant for getting real up and close with one’s face. He does understand that he’s been entirely too obvious about his growing feelings for the music engineer, but it’s really not something he can afford to think about when he has two drunk women on his hands, one of which is in no condition to even tell him where she actually lives.

 

Batting her finger away, only to have Amy slowly bring it back up, Jesse gives a long exhale.  “Amy, as good as it’s been to see you, this has gotten sufficiently weird. Please hear me when I say that we should never do this again.”

 

Amy smiles, and a bit of her red lipstick has rubbed off on his shirt. “You’re basically wearing a neon sign mate,” she tries to reason with him, and he sighs because he knows it’s true.

 

“That subtle huh?”

 

“Are you going to fuck my friend?”

 

“Amy,” Jesse warns, growing suddenly tired of this little game. “Come on.”

 

She shrugs like she wasn’t sure what she expected, the question entirely legitimate in her eyes.

 

“What...are you two doing?” Beca’s groggy voice comes from the confines of Jesse’s shirt and the unexpected sound causes both of them freeze.

 

“Uh...” Amy struggles to come up with anything, partially because she’s not in the best of her faculties, and shoots Jesse a wide eyed look before her eyes flash away again. “Uh...”

 

“Hugging,” Jesse offers finally, shaking his head at Amy before he softly moves his hands away from Beca’s side, lest she punch him for touching her. She doesn’t seem to care to be honest, she is far too busy possibly suffocating herself in Jesse’s shirt. “We have a lot of a capella feelings,” he continues, ducking down to try to see her face. “How you feeling champ?”

 

“Champ,” is all she says, and she says in such a revolted tone, that Jesse grins against the top of her head. Beside him, Amy makes a tisking noise, her eyebrows moving up and down in a suggestive manner, that Jesse feels like he’s been on the receiving end of at least 10 times that day. Amy _had_ to work on her discretion.

 

“Keys,” Jesse orders her, nodding to Beca’s purse which was slung over Amy’s arm.

 

“Yes sir,” Amy mocks, and very nearly stabs Jesse with the sharp metal as she hands them over to him. There’s an apologetic shrug to her shoulders when she spins away from him, but Jesse just shakes his head and turns back to his “ride.”

 

“I’m going to drive you and Amy home now,” he says softly to Beca, “think you can get yourself into the back seat?”

 

Beca’s brow furrows against the dip of his throat, and she pulls back, eyes a lot more focused than they’d been 10 minutes ago when she...well, was asleep.

 

“Don’t think I’ve ever _parked_ before?” she snorts a ridiculous little laugh that he’s never heard on her before, and it’s so dorky that his face splits into a smile with her. “Amateur. I’ve parked all over the place, in wayyyy better back seats than yours,” she punctuates with a hard stab to his chest, her body violently swaying backwards with the movement.

 

It’s then that he gets that she thinks that...

 

“Good to know,” he flushes a little, and he can hear Amy singing something from within the car, possibly an operatic rendition of N’Sync’s “Dirty Pop,” but he isn’t that interested to strain for the lyrics right now. Not when Beca is looking at him with that smug little smirk on her face, slightly glossy as her eyes might be.

 

“Unfortunately for me,” he clears his throat, and helps her slide down from the trunk, voice catching when she presses herself closer to him to keep herself upright. “This is actually your back seat and uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, feeling the fatigue that hadn’t quite blessed him with its presence yet, just starting to seep in. Fuck, he hadn’t slept more then a few hours in the last two days.  “It will be very difficult to drive you home without you in it.”

 

“Wait,” she protests in confusion, the cute scrunch to her nose present again as he gently ushers her to the back door of the car. “ _You’re_ driving me home? But-” she stops, clambering into the back with ungainly movements that force her ass in the air and one of her shoes off of her feet. “You don’t even have a license.”

 

“Why do you keep saying that?” he blows out a long exhale, reaching over her to buckle her in safely. Of all the things he imagine he’d be doing today, babysitting the girl he had developed pretty strong feelings for, was not one of them.

 

“It’s alright mate,” Amy says in the passenger seat, interrupting her own N’Sync sing along, to provide some helpful advice. “They can’t catch you if you act like they aren’t even there.”

 

“That’s not a thing Amy,” Jesse almost facepalms, wrestling with the seat buckle in growing agitation. “They can still see you if you ignore the. You aren’t Harry Potte-uh,” he stares dumbly at Beca as his hand accidentally brushes against her boob in an attempt to untwist the belt strap, unable to finish his sentence as her eyes snap to his. Beca is watching him with grave eyes, holding his attention, as if daring him to turn away to acknowledge Amy instead of her. He swallows again, withdrawing the hand that had carefully slipped the seat buckle into place.

 

“Amy,” he says, eyes still on Beca.

 

“Are you sure?” she’s continued like she didn’t hear him, looking honestly dumbfounded as she waves her hand in front of her face. “But like, there was this movie once, and the guy was sexing all these ladies. And he’s like on the run right? So he puts on this cape and like--no one can see him-”

 

“Amy I’m going to drop you off first okay?”

 

That shuts her up for about half a second, and he takes that second to shut the car door, studiously ignoring Beca’s drowsy eyes. When he comes around to open the driver’s side door, Amy is leaned over, staring at him peculiarly.

 

“Waitaminute,” she slurs it all together, pointing at him suspiciously. “Are we all having a sleepover at mine? You can’t. The paparazzi will think that we are love boning.”

 

“No,” he assures her, laughing in an alarmed sort of way because she looks deadly serious. “I’m staying at Beca’s tonight and-- _oh come on.”_

 

Amy is looking a cross become gleeful and terribly sly. “ _I knew it.”_

 

“I’m just using her Protools,” he attempts to defend weekly, eyes sliding quickly up to the rear-view mirror to see if Beca will barge in with her drunken two cents about how disgusting the thought of them together would be. On perusal though, she’s passed out again, head wavering between the window and the head rest like it can’t quite decide.

 

“Oh I bet you are,” Amy makes purring noises, and winks at him in an overly suggestive manner before settling back in her seat. She’s singing N’Sync again in about 5 seconds flat.

 

He decides that silence is the best answer for a situation like this, and after momentary fumbling, he has Beca’s car started and his seat belt fastened.

 

“I notice that you aren’t harmonizing with me,” Amy croons, shooting him a halfway dirty look before she swells into the second chorus. Jesse just sighs, slowly peeling out of the bar’s parking lot, with all the confidence of a man facing his impending doom.

 

Protools Jesse, he thinks, reminding himself that he not only got a tentative thumbs up from a major director today, but the girl he’s...crushing on, had said that she liked his music too. He beams at the thought, almost feeling picked up enough to possibly slide into that fourth bridge of “Dirty Pop” with Amy, and he signals to merge into traffic.

 

You’re also going to be sleeping over, his mind reminds him. In her home.

 

The smile tightens a bit at that and he swallows hard. Well, shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their past WILL be explained. My reasoning with the radio station is that, Jesse stayed mostly because of Beca, not because he had a legitimate interest in it (not as she did anyways). I think that without her, his interest would have waned, so in my AU universe he skipped out when he became fully involved in the Trebles, and he and Beca never really developed any sort of relationship before SHE left for California. 
> 
> I also promised Benji and Chloe in this chapter, but I couldn't fit it in without it being weird. Soon!


End file.
